


Glass Doors

by mannybothans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels are assholes, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, Leviathan - Freeform, Major character death - Freeform, Pining, Purgatory, Reader-Insert, Seasons 5-8, Secret Relationships, Slow Burn, Smut, Spoilers, Titanic - Freeform, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannybothans/pseuds/mannybothans
Summary: You left the hunting life when you were a teenager and never looked back. Not until your brother, Zeke, winds up dead at the hands of demons at the Harvelle's Roadhouse. Years later, you find your way to Bobby Singer and from there, your life is never the same.(Reader-insert, follows mainly seasons 5-8, with some variation in dialogue and canon events)





	1. You Never Leave The Life

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this is taken from Skyhill's song, "Glass Doors." Highly recommend you give it a listen.

_Joanna Beth Harvelle. Joanna Beth Harvelle. Joanna Beth Harvelle._

The name rang in your ears like tinnitus. You’d only met the Harvelles once on a trip with your brother to their Roadhouse. It was there you’d met them, all three of them, and almost instantly became envious of Joanna’s angelic good looks. For as young as you both were, and she was a couple years younger than you, you noticed the men looking at her – and how they looked at her – choosing to ignore you completely.

After that, you tried to finish school, emancipating yourself at fifteen and moving in with a friend’s family. You’d always wanted a “normal” life and if you stayed away from hunting, you didn’t have to worry about seeing how disgustingly gorgeous Joanna Beth had grown up to be. People never seemed to ask about your family, writing it off as just another broken home and irresponsible or dead-beat parents. You’d tend to agree with them, except you never really had a home until your freshman year of high school. Your brother disappeared into the life and you didn’t think twice about it – it was too painful to imagine what horrid fate awaited him.

High school days seemed like a distant memory, as did your college years. You paid for most of your tuition from scholarships that you either forged or bullshitted your way into getting. Bullshitting was one of your greatest talents; honed by years of training by your brother and dad while in the hunting life. A college degree led to an entry-level job at the CDC, which led to a permanent, salaried research position.

Which is where you were in 2006 when news stories started getting weirder than usual. Your only foray back into the hunting life since your teenage years was a quick fling with a guy who said his name was Rick. Your gut told you he was a hunter; his several fake IDs and badges stashed in his car confirmed it. When you confronted him, he admitted he’d been sent by your brother to make sure you were doing okay and to establish a line of communication. Uncomfortable with the idea of being spied on, you sent Rick on his way; he left you a number for your brother.

Work at the CDC got weirder, too. News circulated of incurable viruses and live stock winding up emaciated in mass quantities. People whispered about a new Mad Cow disease, but you knew nothing new had been confirmed or actually reported until that outbreak in the Pacific Northwest. It seemed to affect just the one tiny town and disappeared almost as quickly. You’d contacted your brother, then.

 _Demons_ , he’d said. _Demons?_ , you’d repeated. ” _A couple other hunters opened the gates to Hell and let loose a lot of bad, sis. It’s been hairy. Real hairy.”_

_“You’re staying safe, right?”_

_“Always. Safety in numbers. Look, remember Ellen Harvelle? Her daughter Joanna?”_

_“Uh, yeah, vaguely,” you lied._

_“Staying with them for a little while. Guy here named Ash who’s working on locating some big bad. I’ll keep you in the loop. Take down this number, in case anything happens to me.”_ He gave you a phone number with a California area code.

The non-hunting world whispered of government conspiracy; secret human testing; creation of a super-bug that would lead to humankind’s destruction – you heard it all. A ripple of anxiety permeated the entire complex because none of you had answers, either. But life as you knew it continued.

Until it didn’t. Harvelle’s Roadhouse had been set on fire by some whacked out arsonist and no matter how many times you’d tried to reach him, your brother’s number went straight to voicemail for several weeks. In the hopes that he was hiding out, you tried again and again.  And then one day it just didn’t connect at all. Completely out of service. You weren’t new to the hunting life; you’d grown up in it. So, you tried to accept what it meant without dropping your entire life to exact revenge. You let yourself mourn after texting the California number, just to be sure.

_Names of the bodies at the Roadhouse. I need them._

Several hours passed, but you finally got a reply. _Ash. Caleb. Matthew. Will. Tom. Zeke._

_Thank you. Zeke was my brother._

Almost immediately: _Sorry for your loss._

 _Yeah, me, too,_ you thought bitterly. If you hadn’t left him, you’d probably be holed up somewhere else. Away from demon activity. Away from the Roadhouse. Away from people with targets on their backs. But you had left and there was nothing you could do, now. Zeke probably thought he was safest there, among friends.

Life resumed at a jolting pace until mid-2009 when even stranger, more horrifying news stories popped up. You were out of the hunting loop for close to fifteen years – and had hoped to remain that way – but it was looking more and more like you needed to find out what was really going on. You spent your free time researching the stranger stories, wishing you could call your brother to see what was happening.

Months went by and coworkers noticed a difference in your demeanor. You were tired all the time and paranoid to a certain extent; the smallest things made you jumpy. You stopped going out with your friends as much and opted to stay home and work on warding your apartment. It’d been decades since you had to even _glance_ at a Devil’s Trap, so it was rough going and it took several tries to get it right. Websites were filled with stories of the weird, theories of what had happened to the world and talk of the apocalypse looming. It wasn’t until you were skimming an article about a town that went rabid and started killing each other for seemingly no reason that you looked at the desk next to your laptop and your eyes landed on your Bible.

 _War_. A horseman of the apocalypse walked the Earth. A shiver went down your spine and you took a shuddering breath. You buried your face in your hands as you shut the book, refusing to read more of _Revelations_. Your hunting instincts were turned on high and every fiber in your being wanted to pack a bag and hit the road, despite you knowing better. You were out. You led a _normal_ life. If you went back now, you would never be out again. The fact remained that it seemed like it was All Hands on Deck or you’d perish with the rest of the world when it ended, anyway.

Two months later, you were on the road, headed anywhere. During a pit-stop at a motel in the middle of nowhere, you ran a web search for “Joanna Beth Harvelle.” You didn’t think that was who you’d contacted all those years ago, but maybe she would know who you should talk to.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when her obituary was the first result. A picture of a gently smiling, beautiful blonde woman stared back at you. She had died in an explosion in Carthage, Missouri, not two weeks ago. Since then, storms and devastation had hit the area with a force unlike any you’d ever seen or heard of. Death and destruction were rampant and something told you that this wasn’t anywhere close to the end of the world. Something told you it was just the beginning.

You pulled up Ellen’s obituary, next, and read that her “surviving family was one Robert Singer, of Singer Automotive Salvage in South Dakota.” It wasn’t much, but it was a lead. You threw your belongings into your car and headed north.

Late 2009

“Robert? Robert Singer?”

“Yes, can I help you?” The older man in a wheelchair glared up at you like you were absolutely wasting his time and oxygen.

“I was… I mean, m-my brother died at Harvelle’s when it burned down. I grew up hunting. Um, his – my brother’s – name was Zeke. Dad was George.”

“George? George Y/L/N?”

You nodded, quickly glancing at Bobby’s face for any sign of his grumpiness alleviating. “I came here be-because I saw that Ellen… that Ellen had…”

“Aw, hell. Come inside before you get frostbite,” Bobby said in his gruff voice with something that sounded like pity laced through.

You went inside and your life changed forever.

**

Life with the Winchesters sounded like a damn sitcom title, but it was the actual life you led from the moment you set foot inside Bobby Singer’s house. The initial attraction to the older brother was real and almost palpable. You were thirty years old, give or take, and harboring a crush like a school girl. If Dean was aware of your mooning over him, he certainly didn’t let on for the longest time. When Dean and Sam went to Detroit to meet Lucifer, you were still trying to wrap your head around being pulled back into the life. You stayed with Bobby when Dean went back to an ex and forsook The Life. You envied him; you had come back to help and found yourself almost useless and pining for someone who just wanted to get out. Bitter was probably the best way to describe your demeanor in the months after Dean left. Bobby watched a grown woman sulk and relearn how to survive in the world she’d abandoned almost two decades prior.

“You got out, Y/N. Why in the samhill did you even bother coming back?” It was probably the fiftieth time Bobby had asked you that. And, as always, it was prompted by your temper flaring and stubbornness in taking down monsters on your own when you could. “You could’a stayed out!”

You glared at Bobby over the table and slammed your book shut before you stormed away.

“You’re as stubborn as they are!” He called after you. “Were,” he corrected himself under his breath.

About A Year Later

Neither one of you knew that Sam had been alive the whole time.

When you found out, you were as shell-shocked as the rest of them. You wondered if Sam was as broken as Dean supposedly was when he’d been pulled out of hell – something you’d heard all about from Bobby and Sam in your first few months with them. The hunting life didn’t leave many folks unscathed but Dean was so utterly withdrawn and seemingly lost that you _had_ to know why. One weekend, Sherriff Mills stopped by the house with some federal agent, regarding missing bodies and leads to the junk yard. You stayed out of the way and out of sight, only briefly greeting the Sherriff when she came inside. Bobby pulled her aside and they whispered for several minutes, while you threw him suspicious looks. Bobby grumbled about an Okami and Rufus, but you left it alone because he was adamant about cleaning up his own messes.

Later that weekend, when Dean called Bobby while on a case in Wisconsin, you eavesdropped. Bobby hadn’t mentioned Dean was back hunting. Either he’d come back while you were away or hadn’t been back to the house at all. You weren’t sure which answer you’d prefer, so you didn’t ask. Feelings you’d long suppressed surfaced at the sound of Dean’s voice and anger that he’d rejoined Sam and neither one of them had thought to contact you made you seethe.

Of course, you took it out on Bobby and left in a hurry, without even a case to find. Perhaps it would be better for all of you if you finally struck out on your own. You’d been hunting again for over a year and knew how to handle ninety percent of what was out there. All thanks to finding Bobby Singer and his library of lore.

You stayed away for several weeks, embarrassed at how’d you’d treated Bobby and unwilling to admit you still had feelings for Dean. It wasn’t until Bobby called you for All Hands on Deck regarding getting Sam’s soul back that you picked up and went back to his house. If it wasn’t for the edge of panic in his voice, you weren’t sure you’d ever have returned.

When you arrived, you found Dean and Bobby in a somewhat drunken stupor, sitting dejectedly at the kitchen table. They’d been arguing – it sounded like about Sam being locked up in the basement – right as you walked in.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” you said, dryly; you focused on Bobby because you knew if you looked at Dean, you might spit in his face. First he abandons the hunting life, then he takes off and almost lets Bobby get killed, and now he’s remorseful because his homicidal brother is locked up. “As far as I’m concerned, Sam needs to stay locked up. You fucked up, Dean. You left to go make a bargain and I’m guessing it didn’t quite work out.” You narrowed your eyes as Dean stiffened in his seat. He was about to make a retort when you felt a cold breeze at your back.

You turned, face-to-face with Death Himself. He merely forced a smile at you before you stepped aside and he and Dean went downstairs together. Bobby shot you a look of reprove before he joined them. You shook your head, hoping that Sam would be alright. No idea with how close Bobby had actually come to being killed by Sam, you sat down heavily in his chair and finished his beer.

Moments later, you hear screaming from the basement and rushed down. Death was at Sam’s side and there was a blinding light that blocked out most everything else. Dean and Bobby were standing in the doorway to the panic room and you could hear faint murmuring, and then, “Please. Don’t do this! No, no! You don’t know! You don’t know what’ll happen to me—AAAAAHH!”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you do?!” You yelled from behind the men, not startling either one.

“We put his soul back.”

“The fuck you did!” You studied Dean’s face. Guilt written all over it cemented his truth. “Oh my god, Dean, what did you do?”

“I had to, okay?! He was a-a monster!”

“He was your _brother_!” You yelled, getting right up in Dean’s personal space. You glanced over and Sam was completely comatose, Death nowhere to be seen, and Bobby slowly backing off. “So what, you just gonna sign his death warrant whenever it suits you?!”

Dean’s jaw set and you glared at him, wondering what you ever saw in his hard green eyes and tightly-pursed lips. “You don’t know anything about my brother,” he ground out. “And you certainly have no right to talk to me about signing his death warrant.” His eyes shot daggers at you and you swallowed, the loss of your own brother stinging deeply.

“Fuck. You.” Your hands shoved his shoulders and you stormed back up the stairs, hot tears burning at your eyes. How could you have known your brother was at the Roadhouse that day? You couldn’t have! So what right did he have? Dean Winchester was a stupid, selfish little boy and nothing would change that. You wanted to flee yet again, to get as much distance between yourself and the Winchesters as possible. Nothing but Death – literal Death – followed them.

But there was Bobby to think about. Sure, he’d been like a dad to both Sam and Dean, but he’d also been your guiding light and voice of reason in the year and some change you’d been more or less under his roof. And he just barely escaped Sam’s homicidal mission. It was better if you stuck around. At least until you knew if Sam was going to be okay.

A few days later, you were researching a case about missing girls, putting together a case file. Bobby and Dean were in the other room, having a drink after coming upstairs a few minutes prior. You were trying not to eavesdrop, but it was getting more difficult.

“…He’s never been through this.” The telltale footfalls of Dean and Bobby alerted you to their presence and you got up, leaving the file on the desk before Dean could walk in. Being in the same room with him lately was as pleasant as being in a room with a vengeful spirit; everything got colder.

“Job?” Dean’s voice carried upstairs as you retreated to the bedroom you’d claimed.

“Might be.”

“Can I help? Send me to the library?” Dean’s voice reached your ears before you opened your door and you snorted. To think, Dean wanted to be distracted from his brother’s coma – big surprise there. You shut the door and sank down on the bed, closing your tired eyes.

A Few Days Later

“Sam? Are you…?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said quietly. It was then that you realized just how different he’d been without a soul. Sam was soft, gentle, and empathetic. Without his soul, he was cold, harsh, and to-the-point. Hesitantly, you reached up to hug him. He wrapped his arms around you and you could have cried with how much it made you miss your own brother.

“What do you remember?”

“The field. And then I fell.”

You frowned and looked over at Bobby, purposely not looking at Dean.

“Okay.”

“And then I woke up in the panic room.”

“That’s it? You really don’t remember,” Bobby started.

“Let’s be glad,” Dean interrupted. You noticed the sideways glare Bobby shot Dean. “Who wants to remember all that hell?” You could have slapped the smirk off Dean’s face right then and there.

“Well, h-how long was I gone?”

“About a year and a half,” you chimed in, folding your arms over your chest and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“What? I was downstairs; I, I don’t remember anything. S-so how’d I get back? Was it Cas?”

“Not exactly,” you mused before Dean shot daggers at you with his eyes. Boy, you could feel the temperature just plummeting in the room.

“Dean, what did you do?”

“Me and Death,”

“Death?! The Horseman?” Sam sounded panicked, now.

“I had leverage,” Dean said; you scoffed. “It’s done.”

“You sure?”

“It’s over. Slate’s wiped.” The older Winchester gave you and Bobby pointed looks but you ignored it.

“Well, isn’t this just neat and clean?” You remarked sarcastically.

“Yes, it is – for once.” Dean said, his voice harder and bearing more gravel. If you didn’t shut your trap, soon, he’d probably shut it for you. You’d like to see him try.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Sam asked, timidly. Your heart broke. Dean was really going to keep everything from him.

“No.” Dean said, resolutely. You turned and left, noticing Bobby do the same.

**

“Great, I’m in.”

“Whoa, whoa, you just got vertical.”

“Exactly. I’m up. I’m good.” Sam shrugged.

You ducked your head, waiting for the blowback from Bobby.

“Well, a few more days of crap cable couldn’t hurt,” Dean said, eyeing his brother warily.

“Right. Because that’s what you did when you got back from hell,” Sam retorted, rolling his eyes.

“All right. You, me, Bobby, Y/N.”

“Oh, you two go on ahead,” Bobby interjected. “You got this covered.” You shot him a thankful glance. “I, uh, I forgot I promised that idjit Rufus that Y/N and I’d work the phones for him, so,”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You two enjoy catching up, okay?” He forced a grin as Sam and Dean turned and collected their things to leave.

“What was that?” You heard Sam mutter.

“One part age, three parts liquor,” Dean mumbled back.

They were gone before you could count to one hundred.

“So, you’re just along for the ride, Bobby? Gonna lie to Sam’s face? He’ll figure it out eventually, you know. He always does. Especially because Dean can’t lie worth shit.” You smirked and got two beers, one for you and one for Singer.

He frowned, hard, and took the beer you offered. “Yeah, well, when that happens, I’ll try and act real surprised.”

You chuckled and sat down by the bank of phones on the wall. “I got this, Bobby. You go take care of somethin’ else. Relax for once.”

 April, 2011

“Sam, everyone, somethin’ I think you oughta see.” Bobby’s drawl from the library drew you in. The guys had returned home from a pretty unsuccessful hunt and apparently Castiel had told Sam all about how he got his soul back and all the things he did while he was soulless.

Including that drunken night you’d bumped into him while flying solo. And how you’d slept together. Well, that was putting it mildly. He had fucked you – hard – and was gone in the morning, giving you a clear sign that it was never to be spoken of again. You had no idea how Cas knew that you two had even been together, but he did, and felt the need to start detailing it to Sam who stopped him when he realized where it was going.

Now, every time Sam looked at you, he blushed. Needless to say, he was looking anywhere but you.

Bobby had been talking while you were zoned out.

“What language is it?”

“Da Vinci code. Real obscure latinate. Gonna take me my golden years to translate it all,” Bobby sighed. The guys moved closer, gently thumbing the pages. “Oh, and uh, FYI. That ain’t paper.”

“What is it?” You asked, hoping beyond hope it wasn’t what you thought.

“It’s human skin.”

The guys jumped back from the book as if it had bitten them and wiped their hands on their pants. You rolled your eyes, glad you hadn’t touched the damn thing.

**  
Things fell into a suitable routine. You went on cases with Bobby, sometimes alone, sometimes with the boys, too. And then your brother rolled into town one week, surprising you and everyone else. Ellen announced a huge case and you and your brother Zeke were sent to Texas, the boys went to Pennsylvania, and Jo – already on the west coast – was sent to California.

“Thank god we didn’t get sent out with Jo,” you groaned as you closed your eyes.

“Look, sis, I know you don’t like her, but we all gotta pull together on this. Somethin’ weird’s happening.”

“I know, I know, Zeke. It’s just…”

“Yeah, yeah, she knew you liked Dean and swooped in, anyway. Y/N, that was years ago. Come on.”

“Let me wallow, Zeke!” You cried, dramatically.

Your brother laughed and shook his head, pulling off the highway near Fredericksburg, Texas. “You’ve had almost ten years to wallow! And you have Sam, now!”

“She’s still a homewrecker,” you mumbled.

“There was no home to wreck!” Zeke laughed loudly and you smiled, sticking your tongue out at him.

Several hours and several dead bodies later, you heard from Ellen. “The deaths are all connected. They all have relatives who came to America in the same year. 1912. On a ship called the Titanic.”

You looked at Zeke, eyebrow raised in questioning. He shrugged, mouthing, _No idea_. “Thanks, El. We’ll look into it.”

In Chester, Pennsylvania, Sam Winchester was doing the exact same thing. “So, Balthazar un-sank a boat and now we got a boatload of people who should never have been born.” You groaned, wondering what the hell was going on and fearing for the worst.

“Yeah. Like 50,000.”

“Makes sense.” Zeke piped up.

“How does any of this make sense?” You asked, your patience running thin.

“Because I got an idea of who we’re up against.”

“What?”

“Fate.”

You groaned again.

“Don’t worry, seems the boys are up on this. Come on back to base camp,” Ellen said into the phone. “I’ll call Jo and let her know.”

You and Zeke packed up and got in the car to head back to North Dakota. The last thing you remember was the truck careening off the side off a steep embankment just before you hit your head – hard.

Two days later, you woke up with what seemed like a serious headache.

“Good god almighty, I had the strangest dream,” you groaned, holding your head as you shuffled to the ice box for a frozen bag of peas. The look Sam and Dean exchanged didn’t escape you. “Do I even wanna know?”

“Probably not,” they chimed in together.

“Weirdos,” you muttered, holding the peas to the back of your head.

What did escape you was the sorrowful look Dean pulled when he realized he could never tell you that you spent a few precious days with your brother again – that it wasn’t just a dream. He’d been scared shitless when Cas arrived at the house, you cradled in his arms like you weighed nothing and a gash on the back right side of your head where it had slammed into the car window. Castiel healed you – mostly – and set you in bed.

_“Should I leave her memories?” The angel asked, monotonously._

_Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,”_

_“Sam, she deserves to have a happy memory of her brother. Maybe she’ll be thankful.”_

_“Dean, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sam argued quietly. “And what about Bobby? We just gonna let him hold onto these memories, too, so soon after Rufus?”_

_His nostrils flared as Dean inhaled deeply and he stared at the floor for a moment. “Fine. Cas, uh, don’t let her… I mean, let her think it was a dream.”_

_Castiel turned and put his fingers on your cheek, keeping you unconscious for just a little while longer._

_“She’ll have a headache when she wakes, but she’s fine otherwise.”_

_“Are you sure?” Sam asked, glancing over at you nervously._

_“Of course I am,” Castiel replied before disappearing._

_“So, how weird was it being with Y/N? You still got those memories?” Dean asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam._

_“Th-that’s none of your business, Dean.” Sam turned and went downstairs as his entire face turned red. Of course he had the memories that Castiel had left in place from Balthazar’s blunder. He didn’t remember – not fully, anyway – your time together when he was soulless, but he sure as hell had more memories to make up for it. More than were necessary._


	2. Enter Leviathan

A Few Weeks Later

“Look, guys, I’m not gonna lie. I think we’re in way over our heads with this whole Eve thing. I’m not sure I’m comfortable going after her.” Truth was, the fact she was referred to as “mother” really made your stomach churn. You didn’t want to go anywhere near that beast from purgatory.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Sam assured you. In the weeks of having his soul back, he seemed to have come to terms with everything – as much as possible, anyway. He could at least look you in the eye, now. Sometimes.

Dean seemed to sense some kind of tension between you two had also been resolved and you caught him studying you almost constantly while talking to Sam. He seemed as if he had something to say and was just barely restraining the urge to say it. It, like everything else he did, drove you crazy. You had no idea how Sam and Bobby lived with it for so long.

“We can handle this. We’ll let you know if we need back-up,” he continued.

You nodded and Sam stepped forward and you felt him almost kiss your forehead. It shocked you, sending a jolt of déjà vu down your spine just as you stepped back from him.

 “What the hell was that, Sam?” You looked up at him, wide-eyed and confused. The two of you had still never talked about what happened between you two and where his sudden lovingness came from, you had no idea.

“S-sorry, I just, my mistake. Honestly. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes went to Dean, who was pointedly staring at the ceiling and biting his bottom lip.

“What aren’t you assholes telling me?!”

Sam sighed, exchanged a silent conversation with his brother, and then cleared his throat. “Remember that day a couple weeks ago when you woke up with a raging headache?”

“Yes… you guys were acting seriously weird that day.”

“Uh, well, uh, see,” Sam stuttered.

“You had a dream about the Titanic, right?” Dean piped up. You nodded, slowly. Bits and pieces were fuzzy, but you’d had a dream about the Titanic being un-sank and your brother was alive and you and Sam had been…

“Oh, God,” you whined. “Sam?”

“It… wasn’t a dream?” He tried. At your horrified silence, he continued, staring at the table top as if it contained the answer to life, the universe, and everything. “Uh, Balthazar really messed things up and it created a timeline where people were alive,”

“50,000,” you repeated, remembering it from your dream.

“R-right. Uh, people, like Zeke, were alive for… awhile.”

Tears threatened your eyes.

“And uh, um, you and me. We, uh. We were together. And… and I remember it. Vividly.” You stared at Sam in utter shock. “So, I think that’s why I-I-I did the thing. With you. Just now.”

“You remember _everything_ ,” you asked, unable to hide the betrayal you felt in your voice.

Sam just nodded and Dean took a long, slow sip of his beer as if he’d already been informed.

“Jesus, why do I even stay around?” You muttered. First instinct was to flee – so you did. You went upstairs and started packing your bag. You didn’t have very much. The thought of Zeke being alive again looped through your head. Memories of him, or maybe just dream memories, floated through your mind and made your heart ache. The tears that threatened to fall just moments ago finally cascaded down your cheeks, blurring your vision. “Fucking Winchesters. Always lying about something to someone. Never can catch a break. Jesus fuck.” You muttered up a storm, hoping it would distract from the painful non-memories of your brother.

A soft knock on your door brought you out of your curse session and you wiped your eyes. When you turned around, you saw Dean leaning against your doorframe with his arms folded over his chest.

“Hey, Y/N. Don’t go, okay? We’re sorry we lied to you, well, lied by omission.” Your glare on him hardened as you pulled your bag’s strap over your shoulder. He held out his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sure you can understand why Sammy didn’t want to bring it up. He’s… he _has_ those memories, Y/N. Yours are just…”

“Dream fog,” you helped out.

“Right. Dream fog.”

You made yourself look at Dean during the pregnant pause. Was he apologizing? Really?

“We fuck up a lot,” Dean said, grinning wryly. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips curled and you found yourself wanting to kiss his stupid face.

 _Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy_.

“And we know we have a lot to answer for. We have a lot of blood on our hands but since you’ve been around, things have been better.”

You looked at him skeptically.

“Alright, not _that_ much better, but you’ve helped Bobby so much. Having someone here… it’s a good thing for all of us. You’re a good thing for all of us.”

“Dean Winchester, are you trying to compliment me?”

His wry grin turned flirtatious. “Is it working?”

“Try harder,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes to hide the amusement at the playful banter.

He took a step into your room, towards you. “What can I do to convince you to stay?”

“Maybe not hide things or lie to everyone anymore? For starters.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Another step towards you.

“And bathe more frequently,” you forced a frown.

Dean paused, lifted his arm, and sniffed. “Hey, I do not smell bad,”

“And ya don’t smell great, either, sunshine.” You fired back.

Dean smirked again, took another step forward. “I showered this morning.”

“Did you though?” _Good one; it was the only thing that came to mind!_

“I can take another,” he nearly purred. “If you wanted to join me. Y’know, make sure to get all the nooks and crannies.”

You swallowed audibly and immediately cursed yourself for it. His eyes danced with amusement, wanting to see how far you’d take it all. If you’d give in to him.

“Ugh, how long’s it been since you got laid?” You wrinkled your nose, hoping beyond hope he couldn’t tell how much he was affecting you; turning you on. Dean was less than a foot from you and you could smell him and none of it was bad. Not even a hint of body odor or anything unpleasant.

He shrugged, giving you a non-answer, and took one more step forward, closing the distance. “Does it matter? You’re here. I’m here. We’re adults. I know you’ve had a thing for me,”

“That school girl crush that lasted all of ten seconds? Yeah, okay, Dean,” you scoffed.

“Well, you just admitted it. Why don’t we see where this goes?” He leaned down, lips inches from yours.

You tilted your head up, tempted – so very, very tempted – to kiss him, to reel him in, to make him see what he’d been missing. But no. That just wouldn’t do because he could use that against you. “I’d rather make-out with a hand-operated meat-grinder,” you whispered. Your lips brushed against his before they curled up into a smirk while his face dropped and his ego hit the floor. “But, nice try. Valiant effort. I’ll see you schmucks in a couple weeks.”

You pushed by Dean, hiding a triumphant smirk until you got down the stairs.

Sam was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Dean was right behind you. One last piece of business to attend to –

You strode up to Sam, grabbed his tee shirt and yanked him down to you as you kissed his mouth with every ounce of passion you’d previously imagined using on Dean. It was hasty and messy, just how you’d remembered kissing him that drunken night. Sam moaned into your mouth so softly you thought you might have imagined it. Just as his hand landed on your waist, you pulled away, leaving him panting and flustered.

“Just how I remembered, Sam. Thank you,” you said and shot a look over your shoulder at Dean. “See ya, boys.” Dean was staring after you, mouth agape and brow furrowed.

“Wh-what? What was that?” Sam managed before the door slammed shut behind you.

“That’s not a meat-grinder!” Dean yelled through the door and you burst out laughing as you hustled to your car.

September 2011

Bobby Singer’s house had never been _quiet_ , per se, not since you and the boys had taken up residence, anyway. There were phones ringing almost constantly, conversations and arguments, the sound of fingers on keyboards or fingers turning pages. There were sounds of cooking, laughter – although much less, now – and of salt guns being locked and loaded.

And then there was no house.

_“I’ll meet you at the house. We can regroup.”_

_“Bobby’s got a live one,” you ended the call and slipped your phone into your back pocket. You looked up at Sam, who was distraught and still panicked by the look in his eyes. Lucifer was really doing a number on him. Thankfully, Dean had grounded him._

_“Okay, well, let’s go.”_

_“Look, when we get to Bobby’s,” Dean began._

_“It’s okay, Dean. I’m good. No white rabbits.”_

_“Ha.”_

_“I’m not seeing anything.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Baby steps,” you chimed in softly, giving Sam’s non-injured hand a light squeeze as you all headed back out of the warehouse. It’d been weeks since you ambushed him in the kitchen at Bobby’s and not one of you ever said a word about it._

_The Impala came to a sudden, lurching stop and you and Sam were out of the car before it even stopped moving._

_“Oh, no.” Tears welled up in your eyes and you made no move at all to hide them. The three of you made your way around the collapsed, burned out house._

_“Any sign of him?” You ask after carefully picking through piles of rubble and detritus._

_“Place was torched. Somebody knew what they were doing.”_

_You wiped your face with a soot-stained hand and nodded, making your way over to Dean, who was on the phone. You hoped he was talking to Bobby._

_“You cannot be in that crater back there. I can’t. If you’re gone, I swear I’m gonna strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car and drive us off the pier.” Dean took a deep breath and you stopped, holding your breath at his threat. “You asked me how I was doing. Well, not good. Now, you said you’d be here. Where are you?”_

_In the distance, Sam was still calling for Bobby. You took a step back, feeling dirty for overhearing Dean’s conversation with Bobby’s voicemail, and flinched as your boot crunched on the gravel. Dean spun around, gun aimed at you like you knew it would be. Raising your hands, you shook your head and pursed your lips to contain the sobs that threatened to escape._

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,”_

_“Yeah, let’s just find Bobby.” Dean cut in, sharply, tucking his gun back into his jeans. The only thing you could do was nod._

“Winchester,” you heard from over near Sam. A look exchanged with Dean told you what you already knew – leviathan. You and Dean hurried over, his gun drawn once more. “Apparently you two are competent enough to warrant annihilating. I’d take it as a compliment.” Despite Bobby telling you that not even silver bullets affected these things, you fired off a round as soon as the thing moved towards Sam. It whipped around and went to grab you, but Dean stepped in front and was flung into a nearby junker. The scream that accompanied the crunch of bones made your heart ice over.

“Dean, now!” Sam yelled as you bent down to pick up a lead pipe. Edgar got there first and your entire world went black.

When you came to, you were in an ambulance. “Where… which hospital?”

“Sioux Falls General,” the paramedic informed you. Panic settled in your chest and you tried to sit up, finding yourself restrained.

“No! Please!” You cried out. “Dean! Where’s Dean? Where’s Sam?”

“The other ambulance. Ma’am, calm down or we’ll be forced to sedate you. Female, late 20’s, mild head trauma, no other injuries visible.”

“Please! Anywhere else!” You begged as your arm began to warm and go numb from the effects of the sedative.

Sioux Falls General Hospital

“Bobby, you’re alive!” You beamed, struggling to remove your IV line just after Dean fell to the floor.

“Of course I am. Why are you on the floor?” He asked, looking at Dean.

“They gave me morphine. A lot.” Bobby glanced up at you but before you could interject, Dean said, “Hey, look, a monster broke my leg.”

“We thought you were dead,” you said as you finally yanked the IV out of your arm and grabbed a few tissues to put over the needle hole.

“Well, I ain’t. Not yet. But we gotta run; this place ain’t safe. Where’s Sam?”

“Head scan, I think,” Dean said as you shrugged.

You were woozy with the effort of sitting up. Thankfully, Edgar hadn’t hit your head nearly as hard as he’d hit Sam’s or else you might have been lunch by now.

“Meet me at the ambulance dock, stat. I’ll find Sam.”

Bobby handed Dean a pile of clothes and then did the same for you. You smiled gratefully and hugged him tightly.

“Alright, alright. We ain’t got time for this crap.”

“I know, I’m just happy to see you,” you sniffled and let him go. “You want me to come with?”

“Don’t got no other clothes for ya, darlin’. Best if you help Dean’s gimp ass outta here.”

You nodded as Singer turned and walked out to find Sam, then realized Dean was trying to pull his jeans on over his cast. “Jesus, Dean,” you sighed. “Let me.” You took his knife and spliced his pant leg alongside the outer seam almost to his hip.

“You just ruined my jeans!” He wailed.

You shot him a glare and stood up, steadying yourself on Dean’s bed. “We need to go, Dean,” you muttered.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked, dropping the gown after he’d pulled on his pants and moved towards you.

“I’m fine, Dean. I’m just a little woozy.” You went to stand up again and get to your clothes but the room started to spin. When your body lurched to the side, Dean was there, holding you up, bracing himself on his good leg.

“Whoa there, sweetheart. I got you. Here,” he grabbed your jeans and bent down so you could put one leg in at a time. “Hold onto me.”

“I don’t need help dressing myself,” you complained. Inwardly, you were grateful he was here to help. You weren’t sure if you could make it out of the hospital without help. But the other half of your brain knew shit needed to get done and you were already standing in your jeans as Dean pulled them up to your hips. “Dean, stop,” you softly said at that point. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it wasn’t, but you looked up into his eyes and saw all the worry and concern in the world contained in them. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Dean licked his lips and you realized just how close he was to you. You swallowed thickly and watched as his eyes locked onto your lips. Without even thinking about it, your hands moved to his bare chest and you felt the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart under your palms. You tilted your chin up, waiting for him to close the distance but instead, he cleared his throat and stepped aside to pull his shirts on as your spine grew cold and you shuddered.

“Not here,” he said without looking at you.

You nodded and hurriedly finished dressing, leaving the gown on the floor alongside Dean’s. He was right: it was time to move.

The two of you trudged down the hospital halls, trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Dean was leaning on you and you were leaning on him, both of you dependent on the other. His body was warm against your side; his arm around your waist while he limped as quickly as he could.

There was an ambulance waiting at the dock, along with a few leviathan. You and Dean swore under your breaths and silently came up with a new escape plan as you turned down a side hallway towards another exit. You were about to pull the door open when he grabbed your waist and pulled you to him. His lips were on yours before you could register what was happening. All thought of leviathan gone, you opened your mouth to his tongue and held onto his shoulders to ground yourself.

All too soon, he pulled away and you swallowed a whimper at the loss of touch. “On three,” he whispered; you nodded, reality suddenly slapping you in the face. On his signal, you both bolted, him pushing you out the door as he limped along after you.

Dean yanked the door to the ambulance open and practically shoved you inside, where you slid almost onto Bobby’s lap to make room for him. “GOGOGO!” Dean yelled as he swung the door shut. When Bobby slammed his foot onto the accelerator, Dean wrapped his arm around your waist again and pulled you tightly to him. A faint blush tinted your cheeks as you glanced up at Bobby and noticed him frowning, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“How you holdin’ up, kiddo?”

“Fine, just… dizzy.”

“Uh huh.”

You swallowed, focusing your gaze out of the windshield as Dean gently squeezed your side.

**

With the leviathan on your tails and especially after they’d put on Sam and Dean’s faces and went on a killing spree, you really had to lay low. Which meant not going off on your own as much as you’d have liked to. Sure, you made haunting case milk runs and investigated minor things that mostly turned out to be nothing. Being cooped up with the Winchesters was starting to get under your skin and Bobby could tell. Tension seemed to be running at an all-time high and while you tried to distance yourself and focus on cases, Sam’s issue with Lucifer was eating away at you, as was the kiss you and Dean had shared. It seemed the three of you had your secrets that nobody was willing to admit having. You didn’t even let Dean get close enough to talk about the hospital in the following months.

With the exception of going with Dean to find out where Sam had disappeared off to witnessing the most ridiculous wedding you'd ever seen, you kept your distance.

New Jersey, November 2011

And then there was the bickering. Always bickering about something. Which is why you had gone off to wander the abandoned house while Dean worked on the circuit breakers.

The lights came on and you smiled, grateful for the smaller things in life; which apparently the guys weren’t judging by their tone a couple rooms over. You headed back and sighed when the lights went back out.

“What if the bus wants to go over?” Dean was saying.

“The world wants to end?”

“I think if we didn’t take its belt and all its pens away each year, the whole enchilada would have offed itself already.”

“Stop trying to wrestle with the big picture, son,” Bobby started.

“You’re gonna hurt your head,” you chimed in, jokingly as you leaned against a dilapidated door frame. “Hey, guys? Just one quick suggestion? Maybe I pick out our next accommodations?”

The guys all rolled their eyes but Sam grinned up at you.

“What’s the guff?” Bobby said, moving over next to Sam.

“Well, uh, there have been a rash of sightings all over the southern Pine Barrens. A strange, fast-moving, human-like creature. Locals even have a name for it.”

“’Jersey Devil?’” You asked, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “I thought that was just local tall-tale shit.”

**

You and Dean were on Fed Suit duty. Sam and Bobby were at the morgue. You’d pouted, insisting on going to the morgue instead of boring interviews, but it was two against one. You sucked up your discomfort and tried to play it cool when Dean stood close to you or put his hand on your shoulder, elbow, or waist.

“Oh, uh, you can call me Rick,” the park ranger smirked, winking at you. You gave him a wry smile in return. “Ranger Rick.” Dean cleared his throat. You shot him a questioning look.

“Heh, uh, you were the one who found Mitchell Rayburn, correct?” Dean asked. “The human burrito. State police have it down as a bear attack.”

Rick chuckled. “Yeah, I read what the state police says. That was no rogue brown.”

“Apparently, some others reported seeing something a little, you know, weirder.” You offered.

“You know, I’ve been a ranger for twelve years. Tell you the truth, we have no idea what’s out there. Big. A lot of trees and whatnot. Tell you this, though: you gotta respect Mother Nature. You respect her, or she’s gonna string you up and she’ll eat your ass right through the Gore-Tex.”

“So, you’re thinking it’s Mother Nature?” Dean asked, sounding incredulous.

“See, me and Phil, we’ve been finding, uh, something’s leftovers for weeks. Deer remains, uh, badger, missing pets.”

“Who’s Phil?”

“Uh, assistant chief ranger. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Phil in a couple of days. He’s supposed to call from whatever station he’s checking off.”

“You think your assistant chief ranger might be missing?” You asked, sounding as incredulous as Dean.

“I should probably report that.”

“Excuse us,” you said, nodding at the ranger.

“Well, you enjoy your lunch, Ranger Rick,” Dean said, his hand casually on your lower back, as the two of you moved towards Bobby and Sam. “So?”

“Well, we took a look at the cadaver. What’s left of it. Not a happy camper. Don’t have any stats on a Jersey Devil but the bite radius on the vic’s wounds is too small for a leviathan.”

“And he’s still got a ventricle and some change so I doubt we’re talking werewolf,” Sam inputted.

“And a wendigo don’t leave no scraps,” Bobby sighed.

The four of you went inside of Biggerson’s. Why Dean insisted on eating at the chain after that truth goddess case, you had no idea.

“Hey, uh, Brandon. Can we grab a booth?”

“Hey, uh, douchewad, a hostess will seat you. Do I look like a freakin’ hostess?”

“Do you wanna look like a hostess?” Dean fired back and your eyes went wide at how flustered he was.

“That didn’t really make sense. What you said,” you offered, unable to help but notice that his cheeks turned red. You bit back your laughter and a quick glance at Sam told you he was doing the same.

Lunch was interesting; it ended with Brandon screaming at his manager and walking out. After, you all donned your woodsman hunter gear and you chuckled listening to Sam and Dean protest about shooting Bambi.

“You don’t shoot Bambi, jackass. You shoot Bambi’s mother.”

“Bobby!” You were almost howling with laughter. It felt good to be smiling and laughing again after all the shit you’d been through for the past year. The laughter didn’t last long, though, because then Bobby found Ranger Phil.

Base Camp

 “You guys getting hungry? I’m hungry,” Dean said from behind you. He was in no way shape or form part of the autopsy and it was a little annoying.

“What’s that?” You asked, peering into the opened body.

“His stomach.”

“For a guy on a diet, Gerry here packed it in pretty good.”

“That’s human right there.”

“That’s fresh Rick,” you swallowed bile.

“Let’s see. Plus a pine cone. A pack of gum in the wrapper.”

“That’s older. Maybe like, uh, maybe Ranger Phil or the camper,” Sam suggested.

“What’s that?!” You cried out as Sam dug out yet another object.

“It looks like, yeah, that’s a cat’s head.”

“I’m out,” you frowned, backing away from the body and finding somewhere else to sit that didn’t stink of half-digested remains and weird goo. Once you got your urge to vomit under control, you went back into the room.

“It’s time for dinner,” Dean was insisting. You frowned and looked at him like he was the grossest thing you’d ever seen.

“Dude.”

“What? C’mon!” He practically dragged you out of the abandoned house, not even waiting for Sam or Bobby.


	3. Death And Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers lay ahead for Season 7. You've been warned.

Warehouse Stake-Out

“Hey, something’s up,” you said as you swung the van door open and climbed into the back, Sam right behind you. You pointed ahead, handing Bobby your binoculars.

“Well, I’ll be a squirrel in a skirt. It’s Dick friggin Roman.”

“Who the hell is Dick friggin Roman?” Dean asked. Bobby and you exchanged sideways glances.

“Now it’s all making sense,” Dean said after watching a compilation of Roman’s accomplishments. “Remember when Crowley kept going on about hating Dick? I thought he was just being general.”

“If the leviathan got to him, then that means they’re playing on a bigger board than we were thinking,” you sighed. Why couldn’t anything just be easy? Why couldn’t this have been a Jersey Devil after all?

“So, what then? I mean, we can’t exactly outgun them.”

“No, but we got the drop on them. Means we got a chance to figure out what these guys are really doing here.”

Bobby pulled out the listening device on loan from Frank and got out of the van to find a higher vantage point.

“Bobby, what is it?” You asked, genuinely curious after he radioed in a few minutes later.

“They are making the doctor eat himself.”

You frowned, looking at Sam with an expression that said you wished you hadn’t asked.

“They got him,” Dean muttered. “There are at least four leviathan out there.”

“We don’t even know how to kill one!”

“It’ll be a shock when we walk in through the front door.”

You sighed, wondering why Dean was on a suicide mission. Sure, rescuing Bobby meant everything, but this was downright stupid.

**

“Go! Go! Son of a bitch!” You reached out, grabbing Bobby into the van as Dick fired his gun and the van peeled away.

“I’m glad you got in,” you panted, trying to catch your breath and holding on while Dean drove like a madman. “He almost took your freaking head off.”

“Hey, Bobby, your hat,” Sam said, turning around to hand over the hat.

“Bobby?” You asked, sitting up and looking at his unresponsive form in the seat next to you.

“Oh, god,” Sam groaned, noticing the bullet hole in the front.

“Bobby? Bobby?!” You and Dean screamed.

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on,” you chanted, moving towards his body and holding on to him.

Suddenly, Sam was next to you and checking for a pulse.

“Sam, is he dead?”

“I’m checking.”

“Is he dead?!” Dean demanded.

“Just drive, Dean!” You shouted back. “Bobby,” you gasped.

“Talk to me, Sam, Y/N!”

“He’s breathing. There’s a pulse.”

“Keep him upright. Stop the bleeding,” Dean said.

“I’m not an idiot, Dean, we know first aid.”

“I need the nearest trauma center,” Dean interrupted.

“Hold on,” you said, whipping out your phone and looking one up as quickly as you were able to.

“What’s the address?” You handed your phone up to Dean. “Alright, Bobby. Hang in there,” he muttered as he followed the route indicated.

You sat in the seat, covering your mouth and crying silently.

The Closest Hospital

“The word’s ‘abrading,’ I think,” Sam said quietly.

“English,” Dean ground out.

“Cutting out the dead brain tissue,” you offered, almost mumbling. Sam glanced down at you but your eyes were glued to the floor several feet away. Dick Roman had been to the hospital and you were almost sure you were going to either end him or he was going to end you right then and there. But nothing had happened – it was just a staring contest.

“That’s if the doctor even thinks it’s worth the risk,” Sam added.

“Not gonna have that conversation,” Dean shook his head.

“We need to,” Sam insisted, looking to you for help. You were all but zoned out, still, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks.

“He’s not gonna die,” Dean argued.

“He might,” you said, finally looking up and directly at Dean. His eyes went from Sam, to you, back to Sam. You knew that look. It said you had no say in the matter because you were nobody. You were an interloper, a late-comer, a hunter who’d let her brother get killed, still managed to stay away, and then came back after years had passed and the apocalypse was nigh. As far as Dean was concerned, you might as well be directly responsible for Bobby’s death.

“Sam.”

“Dean, listen. We need to brace ourselves,”

“Why?”

You turned away and wandered off, letting the brothers argue about how to handle the situation. You’d already accepted that Bobby wouldn’t make it through – something you and Sam had in common. It wasn’t surprising that Dean was holding out.

Several minutes later, you stopped walking and sat down in a chair, unsure of what wing you were in or how you’d gotten there. Moments after, you heard footsteps stop nearby. You could smell Sam’s scent, despite him being around the corner from you. He hesitated and then continued towards you, taking a seat in a chair next to yours. Nothing was said – nothing needed to be. You and Sam were more alike than you ever cared to admit; you were both empathetic, yet logical and reasonable. With a shuddering sob, you leaned into Sam and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, just holding you gently while you cried. You cried for Bobby, but also for Sam and Dean. It was like losing their father all over again.

“We should head back, check on Bobby,” Sam said after your crying had petered off.

You were exhausted, but nodded and stood up, wiping your face off.

“Sam, wait,” you said as he began to head down the corridor. He stopped and turned, looking at you with his brow furrowed and concern written all over his face. “I… I’ve been thinking. About all of this. About life and – and death, y’know?” You took a deep breath and Sam waited patiently, as always. “I just, I figured I should probably tell you I love you. Both of you. Since we don’t know if we’ll even leave here in one piece.”

“Y/N, hey, c’mon,” Sam started. When you wiped away more tears, Sam stepped towards you and wrapped you in his arms. “We’ll get out of here alive. We will.” He kissed your head and you stepped back. Sam knew exactly what to do – he leaned down and kissed you long and deep. It was _nothing_ like how you remembered. “C’mon,” he whispered against your lips when he finally pulled away. His hand dropped from your waist to your hand.

When you got back to the trauma wing and saw Dean sitting by himself outside Bobby’s room, you let go of Sam’s hand. Dean glanced up at the two of you, gave a questioning look to Sam, and then shot up out of his chair when several loud beeps sounded from Bobby’s room.

“Please step back,” the nurse urged the three of you as you crowded his bedside.

“Wait wait wait, stop! His eyes are open!” You cried out, clutching Sam’s arm.

“Bobby?” Dean asked.

“Hey,” Sam smiled.

Bobby grunted and gasped, obviously trying to say something.

“Don’t talk! Don’t talk,” you urged and handed Bobby a pen when he gasped for one. “Here, here, here,” you said, pushing the pen into his shaking hand.

He wrote something on Sam’s palm, then smiled up at the three of you.

“What is it?” Dean asked, looking at Bobby.

“Idjits,” he muttered and then his eyes fluttered closed and he flat-lined.

“Bobby?! Hey!”

Base Camp, Hammonton, NJ

That night, Dean asked if you wanted to go out and get wasted with him, but you weren’t in the mood to babysit a drunk Dean if he didn’t find someone else to take him home. And it’s not like he’d enjoy the idea of you taking his car back to base camp. Eventually, Dean changed his mind when neither Sam nor you expressed interest in getting drunk in public. He went out and got a few bottles to bring back, instead.

 “Whiskey, scotch, and tequila. Should fuck us up pretty good,” Dean said, setting the bottles down by your sleeping bags.

“Dibs on the whiskey,” you announced as you grabbed the bottle off the floor.

“Hey! Come on, now! Sharing is caring,” Sam protested while you took a deep swig directly from the mouth. Rolling your eyes, you passed it over. “Dean?” Sam asked after taking a long drink.

“Nah. I’ll stick to scotch.”

You made a face at that. “Gross. It’s like drinking a peat bog. We are _so_ not making out tonight,” you added sarcastically.

Dean smirked and took a swig, actually savoring it in his mouth for a moment. “We’ll see about that. I tend to attract women with taste.”

“Taste for dirt,” you ribbed and took the bottle back from Sam.

“What’s that say about you?” Dean asked, staring at you intensely. You just lifted the bottle and drank, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey, slow down!” Sam laughed after your third gulp and grabbed the bottle away from you. He was pointedly ignoring you and Dean’s banter.

“Wasn’t the plan to end up passed out as quickly as possible?” You asked, nudging your knee against Sam’s. “I mean, so none of us have to cope with feelings and whatnot.”

“Obviously,” Sam rolled his eyes and snatched the bottle from you. “But seriously, we don’t need anyone getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Man, I wish had some leftovers,” Dean lamented and you and Sam groaned in disgust.

The three of you drank and started talking about anything except Bobby. But that didn’t last long – he was the thread that held the three of you together and there wasn’t a single story any of you could tell without at least mentioning him. Not even on the cases you spent away from the Winchesters. There were some long pauses as you each digested your emotions, at first. You, especially, didn’t know whether or laugh or cry at some of the things these boys had been through.

“So, I never asked, because I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to know,” you said after a lull. “But, which of you fucks was the one I texted about the Roadhouse all those years ago?”

Dean lowered his gaze to the floor. “It was me. I answered that text. I had no idea who you were – until you showed up at Bobby’s after... a few years later.”

It was your turn to study the cracked and peeling floorboards. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat of the giant lump there. “Yeah, I guess I was really late to the party, huh? I never… I mean I never even expressed my condolences for Ellen and Jo,”

“Stop,” Dean interrupted. “You didn’t know them.”

“I did,” you said quietly. Sam shifted next to you, his knee touching yours. You scooted back until you were sitting against the wall and Sam followed suit, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I met them, once, a very long time ago. I was with my brother, still. Before I left.” It was all so surreal to you – you’d been back maybe two and a half years but had lived this whole other life for more than a decade and a half as a _normal_ human. “Jesus, was any of it real?” You hadn’t meant to ask that question out loud, but you heard Sam swallow and Dean cleared his throat.

You looked up, finding Dean studying you carefully. As if he read your mind, he nodded slowly. “It was real. You were out. I was out. But this life, Y/N, it has a nasty way of sucking you back in.”

“What’s even the point? Maybe you were right, Dean.”

“As much as I love those words, what do you mean?”

“About the bus wanting to go over. About all of this just wanting to end. What’s the point of us trying to stop what seems inevitable? I mean we all die, someday, right? Everything dies. What if we just walked away from all of this? All three of us?” You looked up at Sam, who was staring intently at you. You’d seen that look on his face a couple times before – he was hiding something. “Dean?” You turned your gaze back to the older Winchester.

He lifted the bottle of scotch to his lips, refusing to answer. You didn’t know that hours prior, Bobby had tried to talk Dean off this very ledge of thoughts. The room remained silent for several moments.

“We’ve come too far, I think, to just let it all go,” Sam finally spoke up. “There’s… there’s so much to lose. We think we’ve lost everything, but really, we haven’t. We have us. And there are still other hunters out there, too.”

You nodded and reached for the bottle of whiskey.

Dean passed out, first. He’d finished off a good half a litre of scotch on his own. In order to not disturb him, you and Sam picked up your sleeping bags, the whiskey, and moved into a room closer to the back of the house. There was another fireplace, so Sam carefully – and drunkenly – built a small fire just to warm up a bit.

“Glamping, huh?” You joked and Sam cracked a grin as he sat next to you in front of the fire. “I mean, does this even count? We don’t even have running water.”

“I don’t think this really counts,” Sam replied, nudging your shoulder with his. “This is definitely roughing it.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek for a minute before you responded. “So is this what our life is, now? Squatting and drinking ourselves into a stupor while trying to avoid being eaten by leviathan?”

“Seems like it, huh?” Sam was quiet for a long moment, too. Then he put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. It was an awfully intimate gesture at a moment where you weren’t crying or too emotionally vulnerable. “We’ll find a way to beat Dick.”

You snorted.

“I meant kill Dick.”

You snorted again, chuckling uncontrollably.

“What are you, twelve?” Sam asked and chuckled, too. His fingertips lightly danced along your upper arm and you listened to the quiet rustle of the fabric of your shirt against his fingers.

“Mentally, definitely. Physically, decidedly not.”

“Obviously,” Sam agreed before he could stop himself.

You grinned and sat up a little bit, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Yeah, Sam? Been checking out my not-twelve-years-old body?”

“Well. I mean, there was that time last year…”

“Riiiiight. Yep. You totally remember your soulless activities, huh? That’s still a thing.”

“Yeah, that’s still a thing,” he agreed and cleared his throat. “And also when Balthazar,”

“Un-sank the Titanic,” you finished, pulling away from Sam just a little bit. His hand dropped from your shoulder, but his arm stayed behind your back. “Also still a thing.”

“Also that,” Sam nodded. He was staring into the fire and you studied his profile, wondering why you’d spent all this time pining for Dean when Sam was right there. “Uh, so, b-back at the hospital,” he trailed off and you turned your face towards the fire, too.

“Yeah. Back there.”

“I just, I just wanted you to know that I care a lot about you, too. I wanted you to know that. Y’know, just in case. I know you love, Dean, too. I think you should tell him.”

“He’ll live,” you retorted and took a small sip from the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Besides, he thinks I’m still _in love_ with him, probably.”

“Ah. You’re probably right,” Sam concurred, half-smirking. “So… are you?”

“What?”

“Still _in love_ with him?”

Your silence lingered a little longer than you would have liked and Sam cleared his throat and nodded. You sighed heavily. “No. I don’t know. I don’t want to be and I don’t think he wants me to be, either. This life, it’s just so,”

“Complicated,” Sam finished for you.

“Yeah. Complicated. Dean is too withdrawn; he never really lets his guard down and besides – you come first, Sam.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. With a half-smirk on his face, he leaned back and took the whiskey bottle from your hands, setting it aside. After a moment, Sam turned to you, the half-smirk gone, replaced by something shyer. “So, uh, do you think he’d mind if I…?”

You waited with baited breath; was Sam going to kiss you again? Time seemed to stop around the two of you as he put a hand on your waist and pulled you towards him. You went, willingly, buzzing with the fact your blood was 60% caffeine and 40% whiskey at this point. When you were at his side once more, you got onto your knees, faced him, and straddled his lap. Your hands ran up his chest to his shoulders and your eyes locked onto his lips. “If you what, Sam?”

He reached up and buried a hand in your hair, pushing your face to his so your lips met. You were half-expecting the kind of kiss from the hospital – deep, long, and loving. It started out that way, but all too soon it turned into that hungry, desperate-feeling kiss you remembered from over a year ago.

It only took moments before he was tearing off your shirt and peeling off your bra; the fireplace warmed your back while his hands roamed your sides and chest, warming the rest of you.

Lips and tongues clashed, starved of touch for far too long. Your fingers deftly worked the buttons on his shirt and then pushed it off his shoulders. He flung it across the room before he twisted his hips and had you on your back underneath him. Then he was pulling off your boots, socks, jeans, and then panties and you had no doubt in your mind where he was taking this. When you opened your eyes and saw him pushing his jeans and boxers off his hips, you inhaled sharply. The firelight danced across his chiseled abs and chest and he let you admire him unabashedly before he lowered himself back down, slotting himself between your thighs.

“Sam,” you moaned as his lips trailed from your jaw to your breast, capturing your nipples one at a time. One hand gently pushed between your legs while the other squeezed your breast that his mouth wasn’t on. You arched your back as his middle finger slid between your folds, finding a small amount of slick already gathered there. He groaned softly, pushing his finger into your cunt and you gasped at the feeling of him inside of you. You thought, based on your prior experience, he’d just work you up until you were ready for him, and then slam home and fuck you senseless.

Which is why, when he brought you to such a hard orgasm, you screamed. Sam clapped his free hand over your mouth before you could wake Dean from his drunken slumber while you shuddered and bucked beneath him. He didn’t give you any time to recuperate before he lined up his hard cock at your entrance. You nodded, his hand still over your mouth, and he slowly slid in. You moaned loudly into his hand, your eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling of him stretching you open for the first time in over a year. It was an odd sensation – familiar, yet different.

He didn’t fuck you – not like when he did when his soul was still in the pit – but he didn’t make love to you, either. The sex was hard but unhurried and passionate but unfocused. It was about forgetting – forgetting Bobby was dead and forgetting Lucifer was sitting in the corner, watching and eating popcorn and giving tips that Sam could barely hear over the sound of your moans. It was about forgetting that you were in an abandoned house, having unbridled sex with the younger brother of the man you’d been in love with for just over two years. It was about forgetting that your own brother was dead; that you’d ever left the hunting life and led a normal one.  It was about forgetting that you had your own demons to wrestle with, while trying to fend off actual ones.

Sam whispered that he wished you’d remembered being with him – really being with him. He begged for forgiveness for lying to you and you readily gave it to him as your hips lifted to meet his. He apologized for using you, for letting you go, for dragging you down with them.

“Sam, stop,” you whispered against his cheek while his face was buried in your shoulder. “Just…be here. Be here, with me.” He nodded against you, his lips pressing soft kisses onto your pulse point. To ensure he would focus on you, you lifted a knee and pushed him onto his back, straddling him once again. “Look at me, Sam,” you urged when he screwed his eyes shut tight. “It’s just me and you. This is real. Nothing else, okay?” He nodded, his jaw clenching as you rode him. You guided one of his hands between your legs and his body knew what to do, even if his mind was elsewhere.

When he made you come again, you threw your head back and screamed silently up at the crumbling ceiling. The intensity subsided and you leaned forward as he bent his knees and began bucking wildly into you. His heavy breathing mixed with yours in the empty room, echoing off walls covered in peeling paper and dust. You leaned down more to kiss him deeply and he returned it eagerly, tugging lightly on your hair. A soft moan escaped your throat and then Sam rolled you onto your back again.

Sam made sure you came once more before he let himself go and this time he kissed you through it, swallowing your moans and sighs. He pulled out and stroked his dick couple times before his cum spattered onto your abdomen and upper thigh with a muffled grunt and a heavy shudder. You cleaned up with your old underwear and got dressed before you both slid into your bags and fell into a deep, exhaustion-induced sleep.

Seattle, Washington 2012

“I do recommend the Cobalt Room, by the way. Awesome night. Although, I think I’m getting too old for this.” You narrowed your eyes at Dean; wrinkled suit, messy hair, and a smarmy look on his face. He caught your stare and immediately turned back to Sam. “Did you, uh, figure out that symbol?”

“No. Um, we’re gonna need an expert.”

“Expert? Our expert’s dead.”

Later That Morning

You spoke with Charlene, vaguely keeping an ear on Dean’s conversation with Sam. Yeah, he’d went ahead and gotten laid and why were you jealous, exactly? Since you and Sam slept together in New Jersey, not much had changed. Sure, there was some light groping and kissing when Dean wasn’t around but neither of you had the time – or privacy, really – to have sex again. Charlene walked away just as Dean pulled out his phone.

“Uh, listen, I think I left something at your place. It was an old flask. Um, doesn’t look like much, but it has sentimental value. So, have you seen it?” He paused. “You want my number?” Another pause. “Oh. She’s real busy.”

You glanced over, catching Sam’s eye as he bit back a hearty chuckle at Dean getting brushed off. After all, he _never_ called the next day.

Dean disappeared the next day to pick up his flask from Lydia’s and you and Sam went about business as usual. Well, almost.

“Jesus, I thought he’d never leave,” Sam murmured as he pulled you to him and cupped your cheek in his palm. “We’ve got at least fifteen minutes,” he smiled as he kissed you.

You pushed all thoughts of Dean aside while Sam deftly undressed you. Truth be told, the fact Dean went out and hooked up with someone random while you were all on a case stung a little bit. Not that it was any of your business – just like you and Sam was none of his business. The secrecy and stolen touches were actually a lot hotter than you’d expected them to be. But something about Dean hooking up with a random woman didn’t sit well with you.

You sat back on the bed and pushed yourself into the middle, reclining on the pillows as Sam followed. He crawled over you like a predator stalking its prey and you smirked.

“We really gonna fuck on his bed?” Sam asked, pushing your knees apart and instantly cupping your sex.

“Shouldn’t we be at the crime lab?” You teased, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s hair as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to your cunt.

“Sssh, god you smell good,”

“Sam I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me with your tongue, fingers, or dick, I will leave and never come back.”

“As you wish,” he grinned devilishly and dove in, tongue first. You arched your back and moaned, happy to not have to stay quiet. Your grip on his hair tightened just a bit and he groaned as his tongue worked your clit relentlessly. He’d been teasing you for weeks, now, working you up in the time you had alone just to leave you on the edge. You would have complained or kicked his ass, but he seemed to really enjoy watching you get _oh so close_ again and again. He’d even texted you on occasion, asking if you’d touched yourself or if you were saving your release for him. You knew that you wouldn’t last, now, as he lapped and licked at you like he couldn’t wait for you to come on his face.

“Ah, shit, Sam,” you gasped, feeling yourself approach that edge that he loved to leave you on. “Please,” you whimpered.

“You gonna come, baby?”

“Yeah, fuck! Sam, please!”

His tongue lashed your clit before he paused to suck on it and your toes curled. Sam pulled his mouth away with a wet _pop_ and then went right back to lashing your clit with his tongue. That was it for you – you fell over that edge, headfirst and at the speed of light. Your orgasm was almost painful in intensity and Sam just let you ride it out, watching you writhe and moan on the bed.

“Shit, that was hot,” he groaned as he climbed up the bed and positioned his cock at your entrance.

“Fuck me, Sam,” you begged.

He leaned down and kissed you; his lips were still coated in your slick and his tongue tasted like you. As soon as his tongue pushed past your lips, he pushed his cock into you and the two of you groaned deeply at the feeling of him stretching you out once more.

He did fuck you this time, but you didn’t object. He was chasing his own release, desperate to get off with you for the first time in weeks. It was rough and sloppy and left you nothing to complain about as he had you coming again in no time, squeezing his cock for all it was worth. When he came, he buried his face in your neck and groaned, loudly, as he shot his load on your stomach.

The two of you cleaned up and got dressed again, hurrying over to the crime lab.


	4. Haunted Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for seasons 7&8 ahead

Motel Room, Seattle Washington

“Because it’s not Bobby,” you argued, siding with Sam.

“Why not?”

“Because we want it to be,” Sam shouted.

“Maybe it’s useful.”

You watched helplessly as the brothers argued for another minute, wanting to bang your head on the wall.

“C’mon, Y/N. We’re going, Dean. You stay here, keep the door locked, don’t go anywhere. I mean it!”

“Fine.”

**

The case ended with Sam killing Dean’s Amazonian daughter and you were horrified. It was just a little girl who was born into circumstances she couldn’t control or have had a choice in. Maybe she wouldn’t have killed Dean, but what then? What kind of life was this for a girl who was – literally – born yesterday? The three of you piled into the car when the mother ship turned out to be a complete bust. The Amazons were already gone.

You sat in the back of the Impala, feeling invisible as the brothers argued their way through their feelings once more.

When you pulled over, you followed Sam inside the Gas-N-Sip mart and pretended to be concerned about what kind of snacks to purchase.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Sam said, waving his hand in your face.

“What? Sorry, I must’ve zoned out.”

“Looks like you could use a caffeine boost,” he suggested. You nodded, sullenly. “Hey, something wrong?”

Glancing up at him, you knew instantly that he knew something was definitely wrong. You didn’t want to be there, anymore. You didn’t want to fight the leviathan or listen to one more bickering session. You wanted to go back to a normal life. You ached to feel like a human again.

“Sam, I, I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“They tell me that can be dangerous,” he joked.

A small smile tugged at your lips but you knew he could see the regret and sadness in your eyes. “I, and this has nothing to do with you, Sam, but I think I wanna leave.”

“Here? The Gas-N-Sip?”

“No, well, yes, but… I mean the life. This. I don’t, I don’t want _this_ anymore. I wanna feel normal again. I want to wake up in my own bed and not in strange rooms almost every day. I want to walk down the street and not second-guess if everyone who looks my way wants to eat me.” Sam’s brow furrowed and he frowned as his eyes conveyed his understanding. “Come with me,” you suggested, your voice breaking a little. “We can just go to some island somewhere, far away from Dick and the leviathan and live out the rest of our lives in happiness – or something close to it.”

“You know I can’t just leave Dean,” Sam lowered his voice, his hand holding your upper arm.

“Then he can come, too!” You hissed. “If he wants.”

Sam glanced around and found nobody watching you two, but he moved you into a corner nonetheless. “What is this about?”

You stared up at him, honestly unsure if he was uncomprehending of what you were saying. “I… Sam, I wanna leave.”

“Forever?”

“Yes!”

He stepped back from you and dropped his gaze to the floor for a long moment before he looked up at you again. “You’re serious,” his voice sounded hurt. You nodded. “But we need you. I need you,” he argued.

“No, you don’t, Sam. Half the time when I’m with you two, I’m invisible. Just someone encroaching on your oxygen. Another mouth to feed. Useless.”

“You aren’t useless! We need you. We’re so close to figuring out how to stop Dick. Please, baby,” he pleaded.

“And it could be another one of Dean’s suicide missions,” you reasoned.

“If that’s what it takes to save the world,” Sam shrugged, running an impatient hand through his hair. “What brought this on?” You shook your head, unable to explain any further. If Sam didn’t get it, then he just… didn’t get it. And it broke your heart. “You know I can’t just leave Dean. He’ll get himself killed going after Dick.”

“I know, Sam.”

“So…”

“So I guess this is goodbye,” you choked as tears filled your eyes and you looked anywhere but at Sam.

He sniffled and went to embrace you, but you ducked out of the way and hurried out of the store. Dean was at the pump, chewing on a candy bar, when you came flying out.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Dean. Just… pop the trunk.”

“What? Why?” He moved in your direction, anyway, keys in his hand.

“Somethin’ we need to kill in there? Where’s Sam?”

“Dean! Just open the goddamn trunk!” You were crying, now, desperate to leave before Sam came chasing after you. _If_ he came chasing after you.

“Jesus, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he shoved the rest of the bar into his mouth, unlocked the trunk, and you dove in, grabbing your sleeping bag and duffel. You slung the duffel strap over your shoulder and started to storm off when Dean grabbed your elbow. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!”

“I’m out, Dean. I can’t do this. I can’t watch you and Sam kill yourselves to save the world. Not anymore. Not ever again.” The look of shock on his face spoke volumes and you wrenched your arm out of his grasp. “Bye, Dean.”

You jogged off down the road, in the same direction you’d come from – back towards town. From there, you’d catch a bus somewhere and figure things out. Minutes later, you heard the roar of the Impala pull up behind you and you wanted to sprint away into the woods, but that would just mean they’d come after you.

“Y/N, get in the car.” It was Dean’s voice.

“No. I’m done, Dean.”

“Please, please, get in the car!” Sam pleaded, hanging out of the window. You shook your head, stubborn and refusing to look at him. “At least let us drop you off at a bus station.”

“I’m fine, Sam. I can do this on my own.”

The Impala stopped and two car doors opened and then slammed shut, but only one set of footsteps came after you.

“It’s dangerous, Y/N! It’s so goddamn dangerous out there for us right now. For you. Stay awhile… let us protect you. Lay low for just a little longer, please!”

You snorted and stopped walking, tears streaming down your face. “You think that’s going to stop us from getting eaten? I’ll either get eaten with you, or without you. I don’t really see what the difference is!”

“Because I want you to stay, Y/N!” Sam shouted. His fists curled at his sides and his chest heaved. “You… you can’t just leave like this. Not after Bobby,”

“Bobby didn’t have to die!” You shouted back, unable to control your anger and sadness. “We killed Bobby! All of us! And that’s on my shoulders as much as it’s on yours. His blood is on all of our hands! Just like everyone else we couldn’t save. All of their blood is on our hands. How much more will it take?”

“The point is that we save as many as we can!” Dean shouted as he took a few steps towards you and Sam. “You don’t get to determine whose blood should be shed, just like we don’t. But we can stop a lot more. That’s what the life is about, sweetheart – stopping as much death and destruction as we can.”

Your tear-filled eyes finally looked up at Sam. “I can’t do it anymore,” you whispered.

“Baby, please,” Sam begged again, his eyes filled with sadness, hope, and loss. “We can stop all of this as soon as Dick Roman is dead and back in purgatory. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Sam.” You reached up and brushed a lock of his hair out of his face, your cool fingertips grazing lightly over his brow bone.

“I can and I do,” he replied, cupping your jaw in his hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Dean get back into the car and slam the door shut behind him. He started the car and you shuddered at the thought of never hearing that engine turn over again.

“I love you, Sam. Take care, okay?” You raised up on your toes and kissed his mouth, softly. When you went to lower yourself back down, he wrapped an arm around you and held you to him, smashing his lips into yours in a fiercely desperate kiss. He knew it was goodbye and this was the only way he could say it. When he finally let you go, you glanced at Dean; he was staring out his window. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned on your heel, heading back towards town once more.

The passenger door opened and slammed shut. Then the Impala peeled away, leaving tire marks and a cloud of exhaust in her wake.

Dean watched you walk down the side of the road in the rearview until you disappeared.

2013 - 15 Months Later

“Who is this? Hello? You’re breaking up.” You got up from your desk and moved into the hallway, pressing a finger against your other ear in the hopes it would help you hear better.

“Y/N?” *crackle* “De- …-Chester.”

“Dean??” You covered your mouth over the receiver, eyes darting around wildly in case you’d shouted too loudly. “Dean is that you?”

*crackle* “…Me. …Cabin…” *crackle* “…You… Sam?”

“Sam? No, I… I haven’t spoken to Sam since,” you sighed, your heart aching terribly at the loss you felt. Clearing your throat, you continued, “I don’t know how much of me you can hear, but I’ll meet you at Rufus’ cabin. Give me two days.”

**

As soon as you walked into the cabin, you were doused with soap, then water, and finally salt. You sputtered, unable to express your shock except by letting your jaw hang open like an idiot. “Dean! What the hell!”

“C’mon, now silver,” he said, handing a knife to you.

“You can’t be serious! You’re insane! It’s _me_ , Dean.”

“Do it or so help me,” he warned. You studied his face for a long moment and in his eyes, you saw almost a feral quality. It wasn’t how you’d last seen him. Something major had changed.

“Fine,” you said and rolled up your sleeve, pressing the blade enough to draw blood.

“Now, me,” Dean said and doused himself, then cut his arm. “Okay.” He wrapped his forearm with a bandana, then handed you a scrap of fabric. It at least _looked_ clean.

“What the hell happened to you, Dean?” You said, cautiously stepping towards him. “Where’s Sam?”

He turned, got beers out of the icebox, and handed you one. “Can’t reach him. Tried half his numbers – nothing. You mean you haven’t seen him in over a year?”

“Y-yeah, it’s been a really long time, Dean. I-I-I figured he was with you.”

“No. I was… I was in Purgatory.”

“You were _where_?!”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat on the couch. You grabbed your bag as if his silence was an acceptable answer and placed it on the small table by the couch, next to your beer. It would explain why he was so damn jumpy, paranoid, and aggressive.

“For a year,” he gritted out. “I don’t know if Sam even looked for me.” His voice dropped and there was a hint of sadness behind the anger.

“How did you get out?” You managed to sound semi-uninterested, despite your utter shock, as you went through your bag and pulled out a clean shirt.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I’m here, ain’t I?” He forced a grin onto his face and you slowly nodded, knowing when to drop a topic with Dean. “And you haven’t seen Sam _once_?”

“Not since I left after the Amazons.” You turned your back to him and discarded your wet, soapy shirt, immediately pulling on the dry one.

Dean watched you change, his eyes raking down your back from neck to the waistline of your jeans. “What was going on with you two?”

You turned back around, pulling the shirt over your stomach and shook your head. If Sam hadn’t told him, there was no reason for you to say anything. Not at this point. “Nothing.”

“That kiss on the side of the road sure as hell didn’t look like _nothing_ ,” Dean argued. You stayed silent and sat down next to him, picking at the label on the beer bottle; you didn’t think he’d been watching. “Did you love him?” You swallowed. “He loved you. Never said it out loud, but he couldn’t stop moping over you for months after you left. I can’t believe he didn’t contact you once. Not once?!”

“I already told you, Dean,” you said firmly, looking up at him. You looked directly into his eyes, which were a little less wild-looking but still hard. “He didn’t even text. Not once. He just disappeared.”

Dean snorted and took a long drink of his beer.

“Why do you care?” You were genuinely interested in his line of questioning and why he couldn’t believe Sam didn’t contact you in the past fifteen months. “I mean, it’s not like _we_ ever had anything.” You tried to gauge his reaction to that, but his face was impassive and stoic.

Dean ran his tongue over his bottom lip, studying you so intensely that you had to look away. “Right. We never had anything.” He got up and retrieved two more beers, handing you one before you could protest. “Except, y’know, that one kiss at the hospital.” Unsure of how to react, you just nodded. “Guess it didn’t mean anything, so.”

Hurt settled deep within you; how could he have not known how much he meant to you? All those months, all those times you either stood up for him or stood beside him. The hurt turned to anger.

“You’re an idiot, Dean. You know I had feelings for you, once.”

“Yeah, what did you call it again? A ‘school girl crush?’”

“So I wouldn’t embarrass myself! Jesus. You, you went back to Lisa, anyway.”

Dean sat silently, his index finger lightly tapping his bottle as he thought. “That’s not fair. I hardly knew you, but I knew Lisa. I knew she could give me what I needed. You…” He paused, letting the silence of the cabin envelope both of you for several moments. “Would you go back to Sam? If he showed up or called you?”

You shifted, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. But you saw his point. “Maybe. Maybe if there was no other alternative; if there was nobody else.”

“And if there was?”

“Why would I live in the past?” You quietly asked, not meaning for it to sound like a barb directed at Dean. He hummed and you downed more than half of your beer in one go. “I doubt he’d take me back, anyway.”

The quietness of the cabin took on an almost tangible quality as it thickened with tension. “I missed you,” Dean finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “God, I missed you. Hearing Sam talk about you all the time, it just… it drove me crazy.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay, then?”

“I did, Y/N. It was my idea to go after you in the first place.”

“Your silence after I left sure didn’t seem like you wanted me around.”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Sam’s being a whiny emo bitch and missing you, but I also miss you, so come back and pick one of us?’”

“You slept with that Amazon, Dean. What was I supposed to think?”

“Because I, god, Y/N! Because I didn’t think I was good enough for you! I thought I fucked things up between us at the hospital. You hardly looked at me for weeks afterwards. You avoided being alone with me. How was I supposed to take that?! And then in Jersey,” he paused and took a deep breath. “I woke up and you and Sam were in another room together. I’m not an idiot. You guys had something.”

You felt your entire face turn red; you figured Dean would’ve said something or made some snide comment to Sam about sleeping with you if he’d suspected. “It wasn’t like that, Dean. Death was so close to us that night. I – we – were drunk. We needed _something_ to feel like our worlds weren’t crashing around us.”

“And I didn’t need that? You didn’t think once, just once, that maybe I needed to feel like that, too?”

You shook your head as tears stung your eyes and stood up, grabbing your bag. “I shouldn’t’ve come back.”

“You don’t get to run away again!” Dean yelled and jumped over the couch, blocking the way to the door. You visibly flinched and he took a deep, steadying breath. “Listen. I, I’ve done nothing but fight and kill for the past year. There was nothing except to claw and hack my way back here just to find both you _and_ Sam gone. I didn’t see another human for a _year_. Please. I’m asking you to stay.” You stared up at him, seeing the hurt and loneliness written all over his face. Whatever he’d gone through in purgatory had eaten him alive and spit him back out. “So, if you walk out this door, don’t ever come back,” he warned.

His passion threw you off; he was usually so reserved and guarded, except around Sam and sometimes Cas. You felt like there was something hanging in the air that he couldn’t quite say, whether he wanted to or not. Hesitantly, you lowered your voice and brought your eyes to meet his. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

He slowly stepped forward and put his hand on your chest, right over your heart. You swallowed, hard, and let him just feel the rhythm of your heartbeat as his mask broke and his pain shone brightly in his eyes. “I just want to feel human again. I want to know I came back for a reason. I want to know I’m not alone in this.” A tear escaped his eye and he made no move to brush it away.

You dropped your bag at your feet, closing the small distance between the two of you, then wrapped your arms around his torso. He shuddered against you and lowered his head to your shoulder; his hand on your chest fisted into your shirt and the other one hung limp at his side. You held him as he cried silently on you, letting the past year of horrors finally wear him down. There was no way in hell you could just leave him here, broken inside and out. He had to find his way back from the ruthless killer he’d been in purgatory and he needed you to show him how to be a human again.

Several minutes passed and he finally moved his head so his nose pressed into the side of your neck. His hand let go of your shirt; then both of them were on your hips, sliding around to your back, holding you tightly against him. He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent – your very clean, very human scent – and his grip on you tightened.

Your heart pounded in your chest again and you found yourself running a hand through his hair as his lips pressed against your pulse point. A soft gasp escaped your lips and he did it again, then nuzzled the spot as his lips moved farther down your neck. Goose bumps appeared on your skin and an ache deep within you made you very aware that you were still attracted to Dean. His rough, warm hands were slowly pushing up under your shirt, taking their time. Your eyes closed as he gently bit the spot where neck and shoulder meet. His name fell from your lips in a soft moan.

Dean hummed in response, a sound deep in his chest that you _felt_ and Jesus, it felt so good. His teeth scraped against your neck again and you whimpered quietly, despite the remoteness of the cabin and the fact nobody else was around for miles. The only sounds you could hear were your breathing, the soft wet noises of his kissing and biting, skin on fabric, and fabric on fabric. Dean’s hands pushed up your shirt another inch and you gently scraped your blunt fingernails on his scalp; he groaned and his hands dropped from your sides. He stood up to his full height before he reached down and hooked one hand behind your thigh, pulling your leg up to his hip. Almost immediately, he reached down for your other thigh and you hopped up, locking your legs around him as his hands gripped your ass.

Face-to-face for the first time since the hospital, his eyes searched yours and then fixed on your lips. With a little nod, you gently pressed your lips to his. Then Dean kissed your breath away, pushing his tongue into your mouth and pouring every ounce of himself into it. He tasted like beer and smelled clean with a hint of must. He felt like home.

You kissed him back passionately. All the months you’d spent sneaking glances at him, listening to him just to hear the sound of his voice, getting chills whenever he’d smile or smirk at you after cracking a particularly bad joke, and letting his scent envelope you like a blanket – you sank that into the kiss. The loss you felt when he went back to Lisa, the clenching of your heart each time he slept with another woman, the jealousy and bitterness that you meant nothing to him all melted away when one of his hands slid up your back and into your hair. Dean held you against him and you surmised he had absolutely no intentions of letting go any time soon.

Unable to tell how much time had passed, Dean finally moved. He walked around to the front of the couch and sat down with you on his lap. Folding your legs under you as you straddled his thighs, you finally came up for air and broke the kiss. His hand cupped your cheek while his eyes slowly fluttered open. You leaned into his touch, putting your hand over his and placing a soft kiss on his palm.

“No more running,” you murmured, staring into his eyes. Whether it was meant for him or yourself, you weren’t quite sure.

Dean nodded, then gently pulled you back to him and kissed you again. It was physically softer but still full of intensity. You mentally noted how different the brothers were in their approach to intimacy – Sam rushed, hurried to rid you of clothes and get you off. Dean was slow and deliberate, almost cautious, seeming to wait for consent before his next move. A memory surfaced of a time Dean stitched you up after a troublesome hunt. It was the first one you went on with him, just the two of you.

_“Where’s the damage, kiddo?”_

_You narrowed your eyes at him, hating when he called you that. It made you feel like he saw you as nothing more than a bratty sister. “Here,” you pointed to the giant blood stain on your shirt as if that were enough._

_Dean sighed heavily, scissors in hand. “No shit, Sherlock. I meant… do you want to take your shirt off or should I cut it?”_

_“I don’t… I don’t know if I can take it off without opening the wound more.”_

_“Do you want me to help? You’re going to have to change your shirt sooner than later.”_

_Your mind went blank. You never imagined Dean would be asking if you wanted his help with something so trivial. He normally tore his shirts off or had Sam cut them off without asking. “Yeah… I guess you can cut it off me. That’d be easiest.”_

_Dean nodded and grabbed the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?”_

_“Ye-yeah??” The scissors slid easily through the cotton and he paused when he got to your shoulder. “It’s okay. Keep going.” He did, angling the scissors down your arm so the shirt fell away from that entire half of your body._

_“I’ll have to clean this up so I can see what I’m doing,” he announced. You just nodded, very aware of his closeness and his feather-light touches as he cleaned the area around the wound. “All done. Doesn’t look too deep, which means it’ll heal quickly.” He paused, rummaging around in his kit and you took a deep breath to try and steady yourself. “Here, take a drink of this,” Dean said and handed you a nip of liquor._

_“Orange vodka? You gonna make me a crush?” You teased as you twisted the small cap off._

_“Shaddup and drink it.” You did. “Ready?” You weren’t, but you nodded anyway. The first pierce of the needle made you gasp and it took everything in you not to jump away. “You think this is bad, this is just the beginning, sweetheart. Welcome to hunting.”_

You ran your hands up his chest, feeling a massive difference in the muscles there. Where Sam was tall with elongated musculature good for moving quickly, Dean’s muscles were more compact and built for power – and they were bigger than they were last time you saw him. Your hands then slid onto his shoulders where you gently pushed his plaid shirt off of them. He took the hint and rolled his shoulders back, his hands leaving you in order to pull the shirt off his arms. You pulled your shirt over your head and dropped it, watching Dean’s eyes go from your face to your chest. He licked his lips but his hands didn’t move from your thighs. You reached behind your back and unclasped the too-expensive splurge-purchase bra; it was one of the first “normal” items of clothing you’d bought when you’d landed a desk job. It fell onto Dean’s lap and he merely brushed it aside, leaning in to kiss your mouth again as his hands moved up to your waist, then stopped.

Pulling away from the kiss, you wondered why he was so hesitant with you. Did he not like you? Was he just wanting someone to fuck and wrestling with the idea of it being you? Certainly not, not with how he’d kissed you. Right?

“Dean, we don’t,”

“We can stop if you want to,” he interrupted. You grinned inwardly at that.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Not particularly. Do… do you?” His eyes conveyed his hope that you’d want to continue, even as they struggled to meet yours with your bare breasts practically in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorrynotsorry but dean will always be a consent guy to me *shrug*


	5. Happiness Is A Warm Bed

“Fuck no,” you breathed. “I want you, Dean.” You kissed his lips softly. “All of you.” And again. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Dean froze for a moment and then everything happened at once. His hands covered your breasts, holding them in his palms as if to just get the feel of them. You unbuttoned your jeans and then reached for his belt. The leather slid smoothly out of the buckle; his lips found your nipple and you gasped. Dean had you on your back and was pulling your jeans and underwear off, then he was kicking his own jeans off and pushing his boxers down. It wasn’t until he was on top of you, his warmth giving you chills, that you remembered it’d been a _year_ since he even saw a woman.

That fact seemed to hit him at the same time because he looked down at you and grinned sheepishly. “This might not, uh, be, um, great.”

“It’s fine, Dean.” You assured him.

“You sure? Cause I can go, uh, y’know, take care of this now and then later, we can, uh, finish th,”

“Dean, I want you. Now. Please,” you interrupted him.

He nodded quickly and took a deep breath as he lined up his throbbing cock. You shifted your hips just slightly and felt the tip of him nudge your entrance. Dean exhaled sharply and then pushed forward until he was fully seated inside of your wet warmth. You moaned as he filled you and he grunted; it had to be difficult for him to not come right then and there.

“You alright?” You asked when he didn’t move for several more seconds.

“Mhm, yep, just dandy,” he gritted out and then his hips pulled back agonizingly slowly. “Hoh God, sonofabitch you feel…”

“So do you,” you purred, willing yourself to not lift your hips to meet his. He felt _so good_ and it had been a very long time since you’d had anyone as big as Dean stretch you out. It was deliciously painful in all the right ways.

“God, fuck, you’re tight,” he panted. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he slowly, gently rocked his hips in and out of you. He pushed forward and his eyes squeezed shut and he swore under his breath. “I can’t, sweetheart,”

“It’s okay,” you breathed and reached up to stroke the back of his head.

As if trying to pull a fast one on his own body, Dean thrust hard into you a few times, but then his hips were stuttering and he pulled out. “Ahn, fuck!” He grabbed the base of his cock as he came all over your stomach. It took a minute for him to come down, still panting and flushed. “Shit, I am so sorry.”

“Try again later?”

He smirked down at you and winked. “Oh, you’ve got one hell of a night ahead of you, sweetheart.”

**

Years ago, you would imagine Dean creeping into your bed and pressing himself against your back hot, hard, and impatient. His imaginary, wandering hands would eventually rouse you enough to not be able to pretend to be asleep and then he’d cover your mouth with one hand while he got you off with the other.

His steady, even, deep breathing from behind you, now, was comforting. He’d fallen asleep soon after eating – probably exhausted beyond belief. Dean’s arm held you while he spooned against your back, his own back pressed against the cabin wall. It was probably the safest he’d felt in a long time. You let the quiet of the surrounding woods, the warmth of his body, and his breathing lull you to sleep.

Awhile later, you stirred. You weren’t sure what had woken you up; Dean was still behind you, breathing heavily and deep in sleep. But his hand was lightly clasping your breast and his thumb was brushing against your nipple over and over again. A small grin tugged at your lips and you settled into him to go back to sleep, ignoring the ache between your legs for more. You’d get more after he’d gotten sufficient sleep.

Or not. His hand trailed down your stomach and ghosted over your hip, where he slid an open palm over the curve of your ass. Dean’s fingertips slipped under the edge of your panties and teased your sex, which was undoubtedly getting wetter. You didn’t dare move, unsure if he was awake or not. He alternated gently rubbing your ass and hip and sliding his fingers into your underwear. It was driving you mad – he’d get so close to where you wanted him and then pull away. You bit back a whimper and pushed your hips back into him, hoping he’d get the hint if he was remotely awake. That seemed to do the trick because then he was kissing the back of your neck and shoulder, while his hand slid back over your hip and fingertips dipped into the front of your underwear.

“Dean?”

“Mm?”

“Are you awake?”

“What do you think?” You could almost feel him grin against your skin. His voice was deep with sleep. “Wanna make you come,” he murmured and dipped his fingers deeper between your legs. “Mm, so wet,” he rumbled.

You tilted your hips to give him easier access, spreading your legs enough for his hand to get between your thighs unimpeded. He easily slid a finger into your wet, aching core, making you gasp for more. With his finger slicked up, he found your clit and started rubbing, leaving all trace of teasing behind.

“Oh, God, Dean,” you exhaled just before you turned your upper body more towards him and he caught your mouth with his. Sloppy kisses muffled your moans as he brought you closer to the edge, but you were able to encourage him further between them. Not five minutes later, you shuddered as the first wave of pleasure seared your nerves and made your cunt throb. He kept going, kept rubbing your clit, prolonging your orgasm until you reached down and grabbed his wrist to make him stop. “Fuck, that was nice,” you panted.

“C’mere,” Dean demanded, pulling your hips to his after he pushed off his boxers. You shoved your panties off of your hips just to get them out of the way. “God, you’re wet,” he repeated as he slowly slid his cock into your tight heat.

You whined, “Please, Dean.”

And he obliged, pulling your thigh over his hips for better access. Dean pumped his hips at a steady pace and you cried out at the feeling. He grunted, shifted, and finally pushed you onto your stomach while he braced himself above you and began to thrust harder.

Your moans and cries were swallowed by the pillow as he fucked you into the mattress. You didn’t want him to ever stop. The perfectly timed thrust of his hips and angle he was filling you had you back on that edge in no time. It was a years-long fantasy, finally fulfilled and your body thanked you with an orgasm that slammed into you like a wave against a jetty. Your cunt squeezed around him and he groaned something, but you didn’t hear what he said. You were too focused on how his cock felt inside of you as you came.

This time, you were ready for him. He withdrew from you with a grunt and painted your back and ass. “Shit, Y/N, that was…”

“Awesome,” you finished for him.

“You hungry? I’m hungry.”

You turned over onto your side to look at him. He was wiping himself off with his shorts. “Dean, there’s not really any food, here. Just MREs. I cooked the last of the dry goods earlier.”

“That’s okay – mind if I take your car to get some grub?” Dean wiped off your back for you.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really,” he shrugged as you rolled onto your back beneath him. He was still straddling your legs. “Now that’s a sight,” he smirked.

“Calm down, cowboy, or else you’re gonna spend all your energy fucking me and not getting anything else done.”

“What else is there to do?” His smirk got even more devilish as he leaned down to kiss you. You reciprocated eagerly, but pulled away after a moment.

“I don’t know… live life?”

“Sweetheart, if livin’ life ain’t fuckin’ and eatin’, I don’t wanna.”

You grinned and chuckled, playfully pushing his shoulder as he attacked your neck with kisses and bites again. “Dean!” His hands gripped your waist, holding you down as his mouth trailed to your shoulder and then breast. “You’re insatiable!”

“Purgatory. For a year.” He corrected you just before he licked your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, helpless to really withstand him – and not wanting to. “You keep makin’ those noises and I’ll even forsake food,” he teased, switching sides.

“Dean,” you whined, gently tugging on his hair.

“Fine, fine,” he pouted and pushed himself off you. He grabbed his pack and pulled out clean shorts, then dressed. “Any special requests?”

“Please don’t get extra onion?” You smiled. “I’d like to kiss you sometime later today.”

He flashed you a dazzling smile that you knew all too well. “No promises.”

You sat up as he pulled his boots on, letting the blanket pool in your lap. “Dean?”

“Yep.”

“Be careful, please.”

The only answer he gave you was a kiss on the forehead before he took your keys and left to get food.

**

Two days passed with just you and Dean alone in the cabin. It felt like a dream, how he worshipped your body and made you feel complete – even normal. He barely slept, though, which was troubling to you. It didn’t seem to bother him, so you left it alone.

The third morning, Dean waited until you stirred, then kissed your lips softly. “Mornin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

You smiled – you couldn’t help it. In all your wildest dreams, you never thought you’d be consistently waking up next to Dean Winchester. “Hey, handsome,” you murmured back. “Been awake long?”

“Nah,” he lied. His eyes were too bright to have just woken up.

“Mm, can we sleep in today?” You yawned as Dean began kissing down your neck.

“You can sleep as much as you want, baby, as soon as I’m done with you.” His tone of voice made you shiver. Even though he’d spent the last couple days fucking you on almost every horizontal surface of the cabin – and some vertical – you still couldn’t believe he was talking to you that way. You would have pinched yourself, except he nipped your neck and that was enough to tell you weren’t dreaming.

A contented sigh left your lips as Dean worked his way down your body. His new favorite way to wake you up was eating you out, especially after you swore you didn’t need a cup of coffee after the first time he did it.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He grinned as he moved farther down and pushed your thighs open.

“Never,” you smiled back at him. “Never ready for you, Dea-AAN! Oh!” He interrupted you, licking a long stripe up your folds and then immediately attacking your clit with his tongue. You’d previously joked about how he must have spent a good portion of his time in purgatory eating pussy as well as running for his life, but he’d just winked and claimed muscle memory.

Dean had gotten to know your body better than you’d known it and he knew exactly where to touch, how to touch, and when to touch to make you come. This morning was no exception. You’d discovered that he liked having his hair pulled while going down on you, so you gently tugged a fistful every now and then. Swears left your lips like blessings until he finally sent you past the precipice and you climaxed almost as hard as the first time. You wondered if you’d ever get used to that. He wiped his mouth as you panted, catching your breath all noodle-limbed on the bed.

“We should probably wash these sheets,” you half-teased as Dean crawled over you.

“Mhm,” he didn’t even bother to sound like he cared and kissed your mouth. The first time he did it, you weren’t sure what to think – nobody had ever kissed you after going down on you, before. But as he shared your taste with you, languorously, you discovered that it turned you on. This time was no different. He slowly pulled away, staring right into your eyes for a long moment before his eyes traveled down the length of your naked body; it was as if it was his first time seeing you naked. “Let’s see. How should I fuck you, today?”

You laughed because he’d fucked you in a different position almost every time, trying to find out what worked best for you both. It all felt good to you and you honestly could have been bent over a wood chipper and not minded as long as he was plowing into you. Having gained a little bit of weight since you’d stopped hunting, you were a little shy about being on top, but decided to go for it. Dean didn’t seem to mind the extra few pounds, anyway. You rolled him onto his back and his smile grew wider when he realized what you were doing.

“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” he purred as you straddled his lap. Hiding a small smirk, you pushed yourself down his legs and took his hard cock in your hand. You loved the heft of it, how it felt in your palm and on your tongue. Without warning, you wrapped your lips around the head of it and Dean moaned deliciously as his hands tangled into your hair. “Oh, HELL yeah,” he repeated when you took him as far into your mouth as you could. In your past fantasies, you never pegged Dean for a talker, but boy was he. You teased his cock with your tongue, lips, and hand for a few minutes more. When you pulled off him with a satisfying _pop_ , he frowned just like you knew he would.

Without missing a beat, you turned around and straddled his hips, back facing him, and positioned his erection at your opening. He sucked in air through his teeth as his hands found purchase on your hips while you slid slowly down onto him. You were a little sore, but the feeling of him gave you such a high that the soreness didn’t last very long. A moan fell from your lips as you sank down, completely enveloping his cock inside of you. He echoed your sound, shifting his hips beneath you just a bit as his hands gripped you a little tighter.

“C’mon, baby,” he urged. “So fuckin’ hot.”

You started bouncing on his cock, slow at first, but steadily picking up speed. Dean _sounded_ like his eyes had rolled back in his head while he praised you and let you work him. He fit you like a puzzle piece, his jagged edges complimenting your softness, fitting into you and making a complete picture. After a couple more minutes, you could tell he was getting impatient and wanted to take control. Dean’s hands tightened on your hips and he guided you to slam down onto him harder. You spread your knees a little more, leaned back a good bit, and Dean planted his feet on the bed, one hand coming around to find your clit. You moaned louder, signaling your approval at his next move. With the green light from you, Dean started bucking up into you, meeting your hips with hard, fast thrusts while his fingertips rubbed your clit rapidly.

You were screaming his name minutes later as your second orgasm hit you.

“FUCK!” Dean grunted as he continued slamming into you, pulling his hand away from you when you grabbed his wrist. You were both panting, him now chasing his own release. You loved when Dean got close to his climax; he let go of all pretenses and romantic inclinations went out the window as he let the animal out. Growls and grunts accompanied the slap of his skin against yours. You cried out at the intensity and suddenly he shoved your hips forward and you felt his cock slide out of you as he came with a shout. You collapsed onto the bed, head at his feet, to catch your breath. “Jesus, Y/N,” he breathed.

“Mm?”

“You fuckin’ squirted, babe.”

“I did what?”

Dean chuckled, scooting up on the bed to reveal the wet spot that had formed between his legs. “You didn’t feel that?”

“I mean I know I got wetter,” you replied, sitting up to look at the spot in awe.

“That’s a goddamn understatement!” He laughed.

“Oops?” You smiled, unsure of what to think. You didn’t think you’d ever squirted before. Certainly not to this extent. “Guess we really do need to wash the sheets, huh?”

“I’d say so,” Dean smirked and laid back, puffing out a sharp exhale. “What a way to wake up.”

“I’ll get coffee started,” you offered and swung your legs off the bed. The closest article of clothing was one of his plaid shirts, so you pulled it on and buttoned it closed. It didn’t hide much, but there was nobody here but the two of you.

You leaned down to kiss his nose as you walked by to get the small coffee maker started. Humming, you reached up for the new package of ground coffee and filters that you’d gotten at the store yesterday. You were stocked up on groceries for about a week, now.

Dean cleaned himself up and pulled on an okay-smelling pair of jeans. Yeah, you’d have to wash some things today. He got up and stretched; you watched out of the corner of your eye, admiring the way his muscles elongated and flexed. Was there anything about this man you didn’t like?

Not at the moment, no, you decided. But this cabin life couldn’t last forever. Eventually, the other shoe would have to drop and you’d either get sucked back into the hunting life or – less likely – Dean and you would settle down somewhere. For the life of you, you couldn’t imagine Dean being a homebody, despite knowing he’d done it before.

“Dean, what do you want for breakfa,” you began and then you heard a familiar engine outside.

He was up and at the door with supplies almost immediately. When the door swung open, he doused the intruder without even thinking twice.

“Dean! What! Stop! It’s me!” Sam shouted.

“Silver,” Dean said in almost the exact situation you’d walked into earlier in the week. “Come on, now you,” he trailed off as Sam’s eyes landed on you. Your heart was thumping madly in your chest and you were _certain_ they could both hear it.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost pushing Dean out of the way.

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder and slammed him to the ground. “Not so fast!” The silver knife was brandished again and Sam, still shocked hesitated. “Do it or I’ll do it for you!” Dean threatened.

Sam snapped to and grabbed the knife, cutting his forearm, his eyes never leaving you. You got uncomfortable and realized that the shirt was probably not enough clothing for this reunion. He handed the knife back to Dean, who then held out a hand to help him up.

“I don’t, what, Dean, you’re back!” You could see the wheels spinning inside Sam’s head and when Dean pulled his brother in for a hug, you hurriedly grabbed your jeans off the floor and pulled them on. Remembering the mess in the bed, you yanked the sheets up to cover the discarded underwear and wetspot.

“You know half your numbers are out of service? Felt like I was leaving messages in the wind.”

“Yeah, I, I, I didn’t get your messages.” Sam’s eyes went right back to you, as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

“How come?” Dean asked, finally noticing Sam’s distractedness.

“Probably because I ditched the phones. Y/N? What are you doing here?” Sam finally moved around Dean and you just shrugged.

“Dean called a few days ag,”

“A few _days_ ago?! Why didn’t you call me??”

“I, um, I,”

“C’mon man, she doesn’t have your number. You haven’t even spoken to her in over a year. Let her be.” Dean chimed in, putting a hand lightly on Sam’s chest, once more positioning himself between you two.

Sam’s eyes darkened as he stared at you, then looked at Dean as if noticing he was shirtless for the first time, and then back to you. “That’s, that’s not true. Y/N, what’s going on?”

Your stomach dropped and you chewed the inside of your cheek. Dean’s head turned and his brow furrowed. “What’s he talking about?”

“How about we just all sit down and have a cup of coffee and catch up, hmm?” You offered, forcing a tight smile on your face despite your insides boiling and your heart hammering in your chest. Sam’s nostrils flared and you could tell he wanted to rip you a new one, but you turned your back. He had no right to be mad at you. You _were_ going to call him… eventually. But he was out, too. Had been for a year. And shacking up with some woman named Amelia. “You can tell Dean all about your girlfriend and dog,”

“Dog? Sammy, you got a dog? You better not have put that thing in my car or so help me,” he threatened. When Sam didn’t answer, Dean grabbed a shirt and yanked it over his head, then stormed out of the cabin. From outside, you heard him yell, “MY CAR! My goddamn CAR! She smells like dog! Fuckin’ HELL, Sam!”

You non-chalantly poured three cups of coffee, making them all just how everyone liked theirs, and set them on the tiny kitchen table before you sat down. A jolt of pain from how sore you were seared through you, but you kept your face straight. Sam wasn’t an idiot – he knew exactly how you’d been spending your time with Dean. The cabin _reeked_ of sex underneath the smell of coffee.

Dean came slamming back into the cabin. “I said no dogs in Baby!”

“You were gone, Dean!”

“Dean, please sit down. Sam?” You gestured at their coffees and like petulant children they sat down in their respective seats.

“Where the hell were you, anyway? You were just… gone!” Sam said, focusing his anger on Dean.

“Purgatory.” Dean said shortly, then took a sip of coffee.

“Wha- purgatory?”

“Yeah, and where the hell have _you_ been, hm?” Dean fired back. You watched this interaction silently, knowing you’d speak when spoken to; they needed to get this out of the way, though. “Fuckin’ dog in my car,” he muttered.

“I, I, I got out. I don’t hunt anymore.” A harsh, heavy silence fell over the three of you.

“So you turned tail on the family business.”

“My entire family was _dead!_ ”

“I wasn’t dead, I was knee-deep in God’s armpit killing monsters, which, I thought, is what we actually do.” You shifted in your seat and stared into your mug. So there it was. Dean had every intention of going back to hunting. Why wouldn’t he? It was all he pretty much knew. “Y/N wasn’t dead! Did you even look for me?”

Sam sat silently, looking down at the table for a long moment before he looked up at Dean. His silence spoke volumes.

“Good. That’s good. Y/N, I can understand. She had no idea that I was even gone and you – you didn’t even bother to tell her. Not once did you try to contact her! I mean, come on, Sam! What the hell happened to you?”

Sam cleared his throat and he glanced quickly at you. You met his gaze and took a deep breath. “He… He did contact me, Dean.”

“What?!”

“About six months ago. He texted. Just… said he hoped I was doing well and that you were gone and he was done hunting.”

“So you _lied_ to me. You _lied_ right to my face?!” Dean stood up and shoved the chair out from behind him, knocking it into the wall.

“I didn’t text him back!”

“You said _he_ didn’t contact _you_ ,” Dean argued, his anger evident as his fists clenched and unclenched. You sat silently. Nothing you could say would make it better.

“Dean. Calm down. I’m sure she has her reasons, right, Y/N?”

You glared at Sam. Some help he was.

“Dean, I didn’t tell you Sam contacted me because it didn’t seem like it would have mattered. He said he was out, that you were gone. I, I, I didn’t want to know if he meant you were dead or just _gone_. I figured if I didn’t reply,”

“That what? You wouldn’t have to look for me?”

You looked up at Dean, now, who was pacing the floor. _That hurt_. “You know I would have looked for you, Dean.”

“No! I don’t, actually, because all you’ve done is lie to me!”

“Dammit, Dean! Are you fucking serious right now?!”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I am! Was any of this…? I thought you were…”

“Were what, Dean?” You asked, genuinely curious. Sam was looking between the two of you again, getting a real handle on the unspoken and the situation he’d walked in on.

“I thought I could trust you.” Sam laughed at that, a harsh and biting sound. You wanted to punch him. “Shut up, Sam! This doesn’t involve you.”

“Oh? You’re sleeping with my ex and it doesn’t involve me?”

“Your ex?!” You exclaimed. “We were barely together!”

“So all those times you snuck away to spend time with me, that was what? Just a game? A way to make time pass?” Dean’s expression hardened even more and he shook his head before he grabbed a jacket and slammed out of the cabin. You didn’t answer Sam. He didn’t deserve one, as far as you were concerned. “Well?!”

“You have a girlfriend, Sam! You didn’t seem to waste any time in settling down with Amelia after Dean disappeared. You moved on. I moved on.”

“To my brother!”

“Does it matter?!”

“Yes, it matters! He’s my _brother,_ Y/N!”

You scoffed and dumped your coffee out, sick of this and sick of everything. You promised Dean you wouldn’t run away, again, so you decided you’d run after him. You pulled on your shoes without tying the laces and threw on your jacket. “And he’s fresh from purgatory, Sam, so maybe don’t make this about you right now.” You left the cabin and looked for Dean. He was walking down the gravel drive and you jogged after him. He was walking quickly, but you managed to catch up. “Dean, wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c'mon, there always has to be draaaaamaaaaaaa with these idiots (that's why we love them, right?????)


	6. It All Comes Crashing Down

“Surprise, surprise, you’re not running from your problems.” He sneered.

You grabbed his elbow and surprisingly, he stopped and you got in front of him. “I told you I wasn’t going to run anymore, Dean.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I meant it! I’m sorry I lied about Sam. I really didn’t think it mattered. He had moved on and I had moved on. There wasn’t anything left for us. When you came back, Dean, I just, I dropped my whole world to come to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he spat out and yanked his arm away, resuming his walk away from you.

“But you asked me to stay!” You cried out, taking off after him again.

“And maybe that was a mistake.”

“You don’t mean that,” you said, feeling your heart already shattering into millions of pieces. Dean didn’t say anything, but he stopped walking. “Dean, please.” Silence met your plea and your throat tightened.

“I’m not the same guy, Y/N. I’m not who you think I am.”

“Then who are you, Dean?? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re still the man I love! Have loved.” His gaze turned icy and you recoiled a bit when he looked at you. There was definitely something in his eyes that you’d never noticed before and it sent a chill down your spine. “Do you _want_ me to leave?”

“If you being here is going to cause problems, yes.”

“I can’t control Sam, Dean! He feels some type of way about us but I couldn’t give two fucks! He and I have _been_ done.”

Dean glared at you for several seconds before he looked away. “Well, if you’re staying, then we have work to do.”

**

Dean’s face grew hard and his eyes fixed on Sam, who sat across from you, eating dinner. The entire cabin was thick with tension and none of you seemed to care to speak directly to one another after the morning’s dramafest. He felt his brother’s gaze on him and turned.

“What?”

_Sam Winchester, it’s Kevin Tran. Crowley had me in this warehouse and I just escaped. I don’t know where I am. And I don’t know if he or – or any other demons are still after me. I need your help. Call me back. It’s Kevin Tran._

“When was that?”

_Sam Winchester. It’s Kevin Tran. I called you a week ago. Call me, please. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing out here, man._

“Okay, I get it. So, you want to strategize or something?”

Your brow furrowed – the name Kevin Tran sounded familiar but you didn’t ever meet the kid. What importance was he to Sam and Dean? As you listened to the messages, you knew shit was about to hit the fan.

“He was our responsibility and you couldn’t answer the damn phone!” Dean dropped the phone back into the box and then swiped it off the table.

Thirty minutes later, Sam had a location for Kevin Tran’s last phone message.

“That’s thin,” Dean commented.

“It’s the best lead we got.”

“ _We_?” Dean asked, sounding surprised.

“You were right. He was our responsibility. So let’s find him, okay?”

It looked like whatever beef between them was going to be set aside in favor of finding this Kevin Tran. “I’m in,” you announced. “If, if you think,”

“We could always use someone else to help,” Dean said, seeing Sam about to argue.

“We have Garth,” Sam pointed out.

“Garth’s not here, is he? She is. C’mon, Y/N. We’re going to get Kevin Tran.” Dean said, leaving no room for further arguments.

“And I’m assuming you’ll fill me in on what the hell he means to you on the way?”

“Yeah. Let’s get going.”

**

“I didn’t just drop out, Dean. I found something. Something I’ve never had in all my life.” Sam’s voice was quiet but they’d been arguing again for a few minutes. It roused you out of a light sleep in the backseat of the Impala.

“What was her name?”

“Amelia.”

“So, what, you, uh, you dropped your peanut butter in her chocolate? How’d it happen?” You made a face at that analogy, wondering where Dean got his euphemisms from. Their conversation turned towards Dean’s time in purgatory and you just lied there and listened.

When you arrived in Michigan, the two of them suited up and you stayed behind, having no fed suit clothing. A small voice in the back of your head started wondering why you’d bothered to come if you were just going to get left behind all the time. Another voice, a bigger one, reminded you that you made a promise to Dean and that you were all in, this time. Then again, that was before Sam came back. You knew that the two of them would always come over anyone else and the hurt of that sank into your stomach. The time you’d gotten to spend with Dean was over. He wouldn’t let himself get attached if Sam was around.

**

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” you said to Kevin as Dean pulled into a gas station.

“The sooner you get this, the better. You’re in it now, whether you like it or not. That means you do what you got to do. I’m hitting the head.” Dean said, sounding every bit the bitter old man.

Kevin gaped at you and you shrugged. “Anyone want anything?” You threw the back door open and climbed out, heading inside to the convenience mart. You felt bad for the kid – you really did. He was so young and was once a boy genius with offers to all Ivy League schools and then some. Now, his previously-possessed girlfriend was dead and he was dragged into this life. If God really did make Kevin a prophet, you hated the sonofabitch. Ruining Sam and Dean’s lives was bad enough by pitting them against one another with the angels and demons, but bringing innocents into this was just as bad. There had to be some way to read the tablets without putting Kevin in harm’s way.

**

“And see the gardener? Think that plant needs any more water?” You pointed at the river of water coming down the steps from the garden and Kevin sighed, heavily.

The reunion between mother and son was inevitably punctuated by a demon killing – poor Mrs. Tran’s friend, Eunice had been possessed for who knows how long. All you knew for certain, now, was that Crowley had his sights on Mrs. Tran for good reason. You felt like you had just walked right into a trap. That didn’t stop the five of you from cramming into the Impala to get Kevin and his mother inked with the anti-possession tattoo, though.

You had to hand it to Mrs. Tran. She was a trooper.

The meeting with Beau set you further on edge. You’d been out of the game just long enough to not be sure whether to listen to your instincts or fight them. Dean had been right, though – you just needed to get Kevin close enough to the tablet for long enough for him to memorize it before it was auctioned off and disappeared forever.

Tensions ran high when plan A tanked. The tablet was covered – of course it was. Plan B tanked when the first bid started with dwarven gold as the price. Plan C tanked when Dean failed to secure the tablet from the room it was locked in.

“Maybe you should try plan ‘D,’ for dumbass,” came Crowley’s snide voice from beside the lot of you and you rolled your eyes.

Your heart dropped when the next item was the tablet. Crowley and some kid named Alfie started bidding furiously against each other. You looked at Dean, raising a questioning eyebrow when Alfie bids Vatican City. “He’s an angel – Samandriel.” You just nodded as if everything made sense and sat back in your seat.

“The moon,” Crowley announced haughtily.

“You’re bidding the moon?”

“Yeah. Claimed it for Hell. Think a man named Buzz gets to go into space without making a deal?”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, it seems as though our reserve price has not been met. So, in order to stimulate the bidding, we’re going to add an item to this lot – Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord.”

“No!” Linda Tran screamed as soon as her son appeared at the front, chained to the auction stand. The auctioneer’s words droned like a bee in your ear as tunnel vision set in and you felt dizzy – entirely too dizzy. “I have a 401, my house,” Mrs. Tran was pleading.

“Good effort, Mrs. Tran, but I’m afraid this is a little out of your price range.”

“My soul,” she announced, determined to get her son back.

Your eyes snapped up to Linda and you saw Sam and Dean get equally livid at her rash move. The exchange went on without you listening. Was this what the world had come to? Innocent mothers trading their souls for their tablet-reading sons? You suddenly wished it was only leviathan you were dealing with, again. It seemed so simple back then – soap, chop the head off, bury separately, rinse and repeat. Better yet, you wished it was just you and Dean back in the cabin, nothing else in the world mattering.

“Losing my soul – is it going to hurt?”

“Probably.”

“Will I die?”

“No. You’ll just wish you were dead.”

“Okay. It’s time.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Can I – can I just have a minute?” The three of you nodded and left Linda Tran alone. Your gut told you this was the wrong move to make.

“Dean, this sucks,” Sam muttered.

“Are you kidding me? We’re about to close the gates of Hell forever. If you ask me, we got off cheap.”

“Dean, Mrs. Tran just sold her own _soul_ ,” you began.

“In exchange for thousands of others!” He declared and you shrank back a bit. “We couldn’t have asked for a better outcome,” he said in his tone that left no room for arguing.

You glanced up at Sam, but he was adamantly not looking in your direction.

Things happened quickly after that. Mrs. Tran came back into the room and Dean instantly knew it was Crowley. Plutus, shocked, began to protest but Beau stabbed him, killing the god of greed. Dean had been stripped of weapons when you all entered and now he was racing over to the box to grab his demon-killing knife. Crowley took off and Dean went after him, you yelling at him to wait. Kevin took off after the both of them and you were about to follow when something hit your arm and then your back. It felt like something had just shoved a small lead pipe through you in two different places. Before you could figure it out, Sam had knocked you to the floor and was dragging you behind an over-turned table. Beau was spraying the room with bullets.

You gasped when you looked down, seeing a blood stain spread across your shirt. Another bullet hit your ankle before Sam could pull you completely behind the table.

“Y/N! Y/N, stay with me, okay?” Sam huffed. You closed your eyes, anyway. The darkness was welcoming. A loud thud happened and then the gun was silenced. The pain from the gun shots started to fade into a numbness and you could feel yourself grinning at the peace that was enveloping you. Sam’s voice was shouting but it sounded so far off, now. You were cold and started to tremble when you felt his large hands gently pull you onto his lap. He chanted your name like it was a prayer that would heal you. Distantly, you wondered where Samandriel had gone off to and why Sam wasn’t praying to him. A loud sob shook Sam’s body as he held you against him and your eyes finally fluttered open.

You reached up with your unhurt arm and gently touched Sam’s cheek. His eyes flew open and you saw they were flooded with tears. He was sad about you being hurt? After all of this? A new kind of pain settled in your chest and you winced, groaning.

“C’mon, stay with me,” he was chanting, now. “Don’t go. Not yet. We’ll get you to a hospital.”

“Sam,” you tried but nothing came out of your mouth except a wheeze of air. You wanted to tell him you were sorry and you hoped he could forgive you, could forgive Dean. Sam slid an arm under your knees and he staggered to his feet.

“Gonna get you help, just stay with me.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head. It hurt to keep them open.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice roused you from the warm darkness. “Sam, I – what happened?!”

“She’s shot, Dean!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. Your eyes opened part-way and it took so much effort, but you turned your head towards the sound of his voice. He had Mrs. Tran in his arms, mirroring Sam’s stance with you. “Kevin, help me with your mom! Now!”

The two of them set an unconscious Mrs. Tran on the floor and then Dean rushed over to you and Sam.

“Kevin, c’mon, we gotta move!”

“You tried to kill her!” Kevin’s voice – now you were confused. Dean tried to kill Linda?

“Kid, in this life,” Dean began, sounding anxious.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anymore of your crappy speeches. I just want to talk to my mom, alone.”

“Sure. Five minutes. Sammy, let’s get Y/N in the car.”

“Dean she needs to be at a hospital ten minutes ago.”

Dean huffed and Sam hurried you out of the building. You were conscious long enough to feel him gently slide you into the backseat of the Impala. He and Dean argued for a minute before a car door slammed and the engine rumbled to life. The last thing you heard was Dean mumbling and the sound of tires peeling out.

**

A steady beeping awakened you. When you opened your eyes, you were in a hospital bed, not unlike the one you last saw Bobby in. Sam and Dean were nowhere to be found and you felt your heart break a little bit. Surprisingly, you felt alright – then again, you had no idea how long you’d been out. Slowly, you sat up and swung your feet over the side of the bed. The floor was cold, even through the hospital socks they’d put on you. You shivered and rubbed your arms, standing up to look around. As you turned, you noticed there was no IV drip attached to you, no pulse monitor, nothing, and yet the machine by your bed kept a steady beep. When you finally looked at the bed, you realized why – there you were, laying still, eyes closed, a tube down your throat and an IV in your unhurt arm. Your body’s breathing was labored, probably forced.

_Great. I’m dead. Dead-ish?_

Sam and Dean _had_ to be around here, somewhere. You weren’t going anywhere until you said goodbye.

The hallway was oddly quiet and you walked right by the nurse’s station without anyone giving you a second glance. Of course they didn’t – they couldn’t see you. You tried to think of where Sam and Dean would be found and it came to you instantly – coffee. The closest coffee vending machine was your best bet, so you began to look for one.

A few hallways down, you smelled it – the slightly acidic and overly sweet smell of machine-mixed coffee. You turned the corner and smiled, finding Sam and Dean posted up right by the machine. They looked like shit. Sam’s shirt was stained with blood, as was Dean’s. Had you bled that much? _Well, of course I did. I’m practically at Death’s door right now._

“Sam, Dean!” You tried. They didn’t flinch, didn’t even budge when you waved your hands in their faces. Frustrated, you focused on Dean’s coffee, willing it to immediately turn cold.

He took a small sip, expecting piping hot coffee by the way Sam’s was still steaming and was met with tepid brown water, instead. “Dude. Is your coffee still hot?"

“Yeah, dude, we just got them.” Sam gave Dean A Look and Dean stared into his room-temperature cup, frowning.

“Mine’s cold.”

“What?” Sam stuck his pinky right into Dean’s cup and Dean made a disgusted face.

“Dude! C’mon!”

“It is cold,” Sam agreed, wiping his finger on his jeans. “But mine’s fi,” he began, right as Dean shoved his own pinky into his coffee. “Dude!”

“It’s cold.”

“It was piping hot ten seconds ago!”

“Well, now it’s cold.”

“What the hell?” Sam sighed.

As if at once, it dawned on them and they flung their cups into the nearest trash, bolting back towards your room. You followed at a slow pace, seeing no reason to hurry. When you finally got back, they were both at your bedside, flanking your body, checking your vitals and reading the machine.

“Should we call a nurse?” Dean asked, tapping his finger against the metal bed railing.

“She seems fine,” Sam shook his head, staring intently down at you. “Maybe it was something else.”

 _GUYS,_ you wanted to scream. Sometimes, they could be _really_ dense.

Dean hummed and bit his lip. You wanted to kiss him. So, you moved towards him and stood right beside him, wondering if he’d feel cold or an ethereal presence next to him. He felt odd – like a power line buzzing with life next to your nothingness. It was warm and heady standing so close to him. You brushed a hand down his arm, unable to touch him but able to get close enough to make the hairs on his arm stand up. Dean shuddered, “Dude, did you feel that?"

“Feel what?” Sam asked, looking across to his brother.

“N-nothing, just… Nevermind.” Dean shifted a few inches away from your non-corporeal form and you followed him, repeating the action down his arm. He sucked in a breath and Sam looked over at him again. “You really don’t feel that?”

“Feel what, Dean?”

You could fuck with them all day, but you knew time was running out. Soon enough, a reaper would be coming for you. You moved around the bed, towards Sam, and stood right next to him; your hand ghosted down his arm and you watched as his hairs stood up and bumps rose on his skin. He shivered, too. “Oh, wow,” he gasped. You grinned and did it again to his other arm. “Holy!” He jumped and you chuckled softly, watching Dean’s smug reaction.

“Told ya!”

“Y/N?” Sam called, suddenly looking around as if he could see you. “Is that you? Uh, do, do that uh, that thing if it is.”

Another light brush of his arm. Sam gasped.

“Dean, it’s her.”

“But she’s right here – still hooked up and beeping.”

“Re-remember when you were in the hospital after the wreck? When Dad died? What if she’s… what if she’s still _here_ but,”

“Yeah, I remember. That means a reaper will be here, soon. Shit.” Dean turned his attention back to your motionless body. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“Dean, it’s not your fault. You weren’t even with her when,” Sam stopped himself. “It’s my fault. I should’ve protected her.”

 _I’m a big girl, Sam. I don’t need protecting!_ You wanted to say.

“Sam,” Dean started to argue.

“No, Dean. I was there with her, you weren’t. She was my responsibility.”

You frowned at the brothers – were they really having a fight over who should’ve been baby-birding you? Since when were you some delicate flower that needed to be held and watched carefully?

“I should’ve never dragged her back into this,” Dean said, wiping a hand down his face.

 _You didn’t drag me anywhere! I said no more running!_ You could feel yourself getting angrier and angrier at the situation, especially since you couldn’t stand up for yourself.

Sam scoffed and nodded. “Yeah, great job on that. What was your plan, anyway? To just hide away in the cabin with her and forget about me?”

“You forgot about _me_ , Sam!” Dean said, angry now. “You _left_ and gave up hunting and had no intention of coming back!”

“Neither did she! Until you called her. Why’d you call her, Dean?”

You watched Dean’s nostrils flare and he was about to shout something when your monitor started beeping faster. Sam glowered at his brother before he turned to find a nurse.  Dean watched your unmoving body. “If you’re there, Y/N, and listening… I’m sorry. I, I missed you. I wanted to hear your voice again and see your face again. I missed you. I hope you know that I,”

“Back away, please!” The nurse exclaimed, coming into the room with Sam hot on her heels.

 _That you what?!_ Dean stepped back, almost directly into you. The monitor’s beeping stopped, suddenly, and you watched as it flat-lined. “I’m not ready, yet,” you whispered.

“It’s time,” said a drawling voice from behind you. One you recognized and hoped never to hear after the apocalypse had been stopped.

You slowly turned around and met Death face-to-face.

“Nice to see you again,” he mused.

“You do house-calls?”

“Mm. You’re a special case. I figured it’s the least I could do for Sam and Dean’s… partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his insinuation. “So you’re here to collect me and take me to where ever?”

“Indeed.”

You shook your head and stepped away from him; behind you, the bustling grew louder as more personnel arrived and tried to revive you.

“You must. It’s time. The universe decides these things – I do not. You don’t want to upset the balance, do you?”

“Can’t I say goodbye? Can’t you, I don’t know, poof me out of this veil and let me at least say goodbye?”

Death sighed. “The Winchesters and their cohorts – always so difficult. Fine. I needed to speak with Dean, anyway. Curious as to how he managed to find the way out of purgatory.” He held up a hand and the noise and commotion behind you stopped, all except Sam and Dean, who were now suddenly confused. “You have three minutes,” Death announced and the boys both whipped around, eyes landing on him, then on you.

“Y/N?!”

You nodded, feeling overwhelmed with emotion that they could see you, now. Wanting to thank him, you looked over where Death had been standing, but he’d disappeared. The boys were both hesitant to be the first one to you, so you held your arms open for both of them. Sam embraced you from the right and Dean from the left, essentially making you a Winchester sandwich. “Well, if I’d known all it would take was my death to get you guys to quit fighting, I might’ve died awhile ago,” you teased.

“Not funny,” Dean growled into your hair. You reached up and squeezed his bicep as a silent apology.

“What’s happening? Are you… I mean, Death was here, now he’s not,” Sam stuttered, backing off a bit.

“He’s personally escorting me out of the veil, apparently,” you said, noting the looks of surprise on both their faces. “Said he wants to talk to you, Dean, about finding your way out of purgatory.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he wants, Y/N. Can you, I mean, your body is,”

“I can’t, Dean. It’s too late. If I went back in, I’d probably just wind up in a coma or brain-dead before long.” His face crumpled at the thought of you being like that. “It’s better this way. I think.” You forced a tight grin. “I just… I wanted to say bye. So.”

“No, no, no, Y/N, listen, we can uh, we can make it, I mean, we can,”

“Sam, stop,” you smiled sincerely at him, now. He was always so cute when he was puzzling out how to fix things. Always the fixer of the group. “It’s… okay. I’m okay with this.”

“You’re okay with being dead?” Dean asked, sounding disbelieving. “After we, I mean, after, after all of it? What about?” He trailed off, swallowing, unsure he could say what he wanted to.

“What about us?” You asked. “Not important. What’s important is getting the tablet back and keeping Kevin safe.”

“The hell you aren’t!” Dean ran his hands through his hair, obviously upset. You knew when to not to argue with him and this was one of those times. You just waited him out. “Y/N, I, you, you mean a lot to me, to us! We, I mean, Bobby, and then you,”

“I know, Dean,” you tried to soothe him and hesitantly reached up to touch his cheek. Surprisingly, you could. It took him a moment, but when he realized you were touching him, he wrapped his arms around you tightly and buried his face in your neck.

“You’ve always been there for us. Who’s going to be there for us, now?”

“You still have each other,” you said, looking over to Sam. Sam nodded sadly, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking one million per cent uncomfortable. “Promise me you’ll take care of each other,” you added, pointedly looking at Sam.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he replied.

“I love you, you giant buffoons, even if you _are_ the biggest drama queens I know,” you smiled and gently pulled away from Dean.

“Don’t,” Dean protested. You saw the sadness and pain in his eyes of losing yet another friend, another loved one, to this life. He’d lost so much and deserved to find happiness and peace; maybe you leaving wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Time to go,” Death said, once more appearing to all of you. “Don’t make me bring in back-up because you’re having second thoughts.”

Dean grabbed your shoulders at this revelation and you lowered your eyes, unwilling to look into his. His eyes held your world – hurt, love, pain, ecstasy, sadness, happiness, success, and failure. You lifted one of his hands and brought his palm to your lips, where you gave him a soft kiss. It was goodbye and you were saying it the only way you knew how.

“I’ll see you dweebs in Heaven, yeah?” You grinned. “But you can keep me waiting awhile – I don’t mind.”

Sam grinned at that and, surprisingly, enveloped you in his arms in a big hug. “Say hi to Bobby for us,” he said, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Um, duh,” you replied and Sam huffed a laugh. “Dean,” you hugged the older Winchester once more, aching at the thought of never being able to feel his arms around you or his body against yours ever again. The pain seared through you and you suddenly wished you were being ripped in half – surely that pain would be less than the feeling of losing Dean forever.

“Not forever,” Death piped up. “Just a very long while. Come, now.” He put a hand on your shoulder and Dean stepped back, watching you shimmer out of sight. “If it makes you feel any better,” Death mused, “I’m quite certain they’ll find a way to lead fairly long lives. For their profession, anyway.”

You nodded, the searing pain now a dull, throbbing numbness. “So, where to?” You hooked your hand in Death’s elbow as he turned you away from the suddenly once-again noisy hospital room, the team of professionals working to try to revive you. But it was too late. Sam and Dean gave your body one last glance before they walked out in silence, heads down, hands shoved into their pockets. The sound of their boots on the tile floors faded quickly as Death walked with you into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my beta-reader: idk i mean the ending was so sad D: D: D:  
> me: *big ol' shrug*
> 
> hope you liked it; as always, comments are welcome and appreciated


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